


Consecution

by tarienn



Series: Tails of Zootopia [4]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Action, Canon Compliant, Environmental Warfare, Espionage, F/M, Nuclear Warfare, Romance, Science Fiction, Subterfuge, Tactical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarienn/pseuds/tarienn
Summary: We all saw the conflicts within Zootopia, but what darkness lurks in the rest of the world? Special Operations Agent Jack Savage knows all too well the horrors that threaten Zootopia from outside. But he is not the mammal he once was. A mysterious vixen from his past forces to light the darkness within; now he faces his greatest enemy, himself."Watch the skies, Wilde."





	1. The Wonderful World

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Schritte im Nebel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813495) by [Mr_Manchas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Manchas/pseuds/Mr_Manchas)



> Surprise! I hope you all like the beginning to this new fanfiction! It is my third and final ship that I will be writing for in my Tails of Zootopia series. I will be updating it once monthly. As always, please let me know what you think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **7/8:** New cover art added! Character art of Jack and Skye is by the one and only [Ziegelzeig](http://ziegelzeig.deviantart.com/art/Consecution-690794802). Logo design is by myself and my husband [Jeinu](https://jeinu.tumblr.com/)

> Friday, October 23rd, 20W9
> 
> Morning
> 
> Polminy Goruchka forest, Schevo Republic, near the border of North Eastern Grazia
> 
> 43 hours into Operation Night Runner

His arm bled, the once sizzling hot metal that had implanted itself in his arm after breaching his kevlar shoulder pad had now cooled. He gripped higher up his arm to stop the bleeding as the blood clotted in his sneaking suit.

He cursed the sharp, pulsing pain as he leaned himself against a tree, slumping over the snowy ground. The wind was picking up. The shrill, frigid air cut through his thermal layers.

Shivering, losing energy, he carefully clicked the button on his blood-soaked finger. The radio transceiver hidden in his ear beeped.

“C, I got the photographs.” He said. “There was… there was no time to wait for the cruise missile, I had… I had to…” He gasped, he was running out of breath, he struggled to stay awake. A figure approached slowly. White fur. Black nose. The silhouette of a sniper rifle slung across their back, and reaching out, offering… something… help? Aid?

A side arm came into focus, aimed right for his chest. Not help.

“Runner… evac is inbound.” The tinny radio voice called back. “Stay awake! We’ve got coordinates— location— medical—”

The voice on the radio drowned out to little more than background noise. He was unable to process the words. The figure continued approaching, blurry.

His arm fell, unable to keep the pressure on his wound. So far away… So tired…

_I want to go home. At least… at least I know that I still have a home to go to. Even if I’m not alive when I get there._

* * *

> ????

A dampness, a warm and welcome dampness on his forehead. The smell of a crackling fire and a delicious meal being cooked.

Runner groaned, trying to open his eyes. The only thing he could see was a flickering orange blur. He tried to sit up, but quickly found he lacked the energy.

“You’re awake,” A female voice said with a hint of relief. She had a light yet noticeable Schevite accent, even to his foggy perception, “Try not to move.”

Warm paws reached his shoulders to calm him. He tried to perceive their source, but only the orange glow filled his vision.

“Who are…” Runner said faintly, almost slurred, “who are you?”

“I’m not your enemy… at least not right now,” The voice said, “Just rest, you need it.”

“Huh.” Was all Runner could manage.

“Stay alive and _maybe_ I’ll explain it all to you. I’ll feed you and then you should go back to sleep.”

The strength was not there for Runner to protest, nor could he think to remember what lead him to current state. Only the thoughts of appreciation, that this someone had kept him from the cold darkness of death.

He drifted in and out of consciousness while he felt the mysterious mammal lifting him, feeding him…

* * *

“You lost a lot of blood.” The voice in the darkness said. It was a sweet voice, one that Runner longed to reach out for. The same he remembered that was tending to him before.

“You’re lucky. I managed to find some artificial blood.” The accent of the voice was so strange. So otherworldly.

“Let’s hope your body doesn’t reject it.” The voice kept talking, despite no response from Runner. Was she talking to him?

“I had to walk for a few kilometers before I found a suitable supply to patch you up.” The voice echoed in the darkness. Runner wanted to speak, wanted to open his eyes, but the slightest movement was impossible.

“When I first brought you here, I wasn’t sure if you’d make it, honestly.”

Some time passed. Runner would hear the soft voice, but he was powerless to find its source. Until at last, he found his mouth.

“How…” Was all he managed; his lips were dry, odd tastes in his mouth.

“Runner?” The voice became curious. “Runner, are you there? Say something more.”

“Who are you?” Runner couldn’t be sure what exactly he said. As soon as the words left his mouth, his mind released memory of them. He asked again, just to be sure. “Who are you?”

“So you are alive.” She said, her relief was apparent, even to Runner.

“Didn’t…” He started, but stopped after his tongue suddenly became heavy, falling to the back of his mouth.

“Hmm? Didn’t what?”

He regained control of his tongue, “I didn’t ask what _I_ was… I asked who you were, darling.”

“Hmm, ever so charming, even as you lay there half dead.”

Runner tried to laugh, but instead, a cough came, a light one.

“Easy.” The voice chided. She wasn’t near him, that much he could tell. “If you choke to death I can’t tell you who I am.”

“Well? I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“Just think of me as… a friend. For now. While you’re in need of caring.”

“Easy enough to remember.” He grinned. Were Runner in a better state, he would have minded being so dependent on some unknown mammal. But for now, he was appreciative; he would hold his reservations for after his recovery. Someone was willing to provide him with care, then so be it. Pride could wait for another day.

Runner willed his eyes to open, but all he could see was a blur: a mix of orange, white and grey.

“I can’t see… I can’t… am I blind?” He groaned, the thought of losing his vision was the final insult to his current condition.

“No, no you’re not blind,” The voice assured, “You lost a lot of blood by the time I was able to tend to you. And you almost caught hypothermia while I found a place for us to hide.”

“Hide… hide from what?” Runner asked, trying hard to remember what had happened before he lost consciousness. The memories where there, just as blurry as his vision.

“The fallout.” She reminded. He heard a tearing sound, the crinkling of a foil wrap in her direction. Something being poured out in one slop, then scraped out bit by bit. Rations, if he had to guess. He wasn’t hungry but it would probably be best to eat.

“The fallout.” He repeated in acknowledgement, the full weight and memory of what he had done was settling on him. It was a vague memory, but foreboding nonetheless. “What… what have I done?”

“What you had to.” She said, her voice becoming flat. “The question you should be asking is _why_ did you do it?”

He could hear her move about in the room, his ears following her. While his eyes were useless, his ears seemed to function just fine.

“Why?” He asked, the answer was clear, “Those weapons could have destroyed so many lives. I had to. For Zootopia. No— for the world. Everyone deserves to live in a world without those Schevite weapons.”

“Hmm,” she pondered, “Maybe you’re right. Everyone does deserve to live without fear.”

What was she trying to say? Runner pondered on her words as he tried to focus on the blurry shapes around the small, cramped room. Those weapons should have been destroyed, there was no doubt in his mind.

“But is that really why you did it?” She asked.

Runner didn’t respond. It was his mission to protect the world, it was his _duty_. Of course he did it for the good of all mammals.

“The soup is almost ready,” She said, the edge dropping out of her voice. “You’re a hare, so you need to keep your blood sugar up, especially in the cold. You had a seizure a few nights ago, I don’t want that to happen again.”

A few _nights_ ago? How long could Runner have possibly been out? Although that wasn’t quite the most pertinent question on his mind. Who was this girl? Why was she so concerned for his well being that she would risk rescuing him and finding artificial blood to infuse him with? Caring for him for several days… didn’t she have anything better to do?

“Why is a Schevite trying to keep me alive?” He asked, his eyes starting to come into focus.

She laughed lightly, busying herself with the soup.

His rescuer, and captor, was a pure white fox. She wore a white tank top and red fatigue pants. Those pants cemented her as a Schevite soldier.

“You said you’d explain if I stayed alive. I’d say you owe me,” He was confused, yet he didn’t want to admit that to her. “After all, you’re the one who shot me.”

“I said _maybe._ ”

* * *

Runner took in a sudden breath, awakening to a dark and empty room. The only light came in from a single window.

He looked around the room, trying to shake the fog from his mind. Sight came to him quicker this time, revealing the interior of a log cabin, small, old. There was a fireplace not far from the makeshift bed he laid in.

He tried to sit up.

“Ahh!” He shouted in pain as his left arm failed to support his weight, a sharp spasm causing him to fall back to the bed.

He carefully inspected his shoulder. It seemed to be wrapped in a well-dressed bandage, the memory of the bullet in his arm slowly returning to him. How long had he been out? Was the bullet still in his arm?

A more important question suddenly made itself apparent; Who brought him here? If he was medevacked by the agency, he wouldn’t be in some old log cabin. Furthermore, _why_ was he still alive?

After utterly destroying the Schevite’s weapons depot, the fallout of the fractured cobalt warheads undoubtedly littered the area, dangerously interfering with any attempts to rescue him.

Runner quickly shook himself from his confusion and looked around the room for his weapon. He was naked, his only clothing was the bandage on his all but useless arm. Lifting himself out of bed, he found himself to be lightheaded, and stricken with a terrible vertigo. Just how long was he lying there?

He spotted his equipment, sitting in the corner was a sneaking suit and tactical belt, both neatly folded. Doing his best to maneuver himself towards it, he kept an eye out for his caretaker. His captor.

The floor was cold against his bare fur as he gently placed himself down next to his belongings. He did a quick check to see what was missing from his gear, cradling his injured arm against his chest. Finding it all in order he quickly readied his pistol. It was a lethal weapon: silenced, accurate, hare-sized, and Runner’s favorite.

On the lookout for any intruders, he attempted to dress himself. It proved impossible with only one functioning arm, however, and he tossed his sneaking suit back onto the floor with a groan.

Luckily, his radio seemed to still be intact. He clipped it onto his ear and slipped the buttoned ring around his finger with a click. The radio beeped, indicating it was on and directed to the correct frequency.

“C, C, come in.” He said after clicking the button again.

Silence.

“C, this is Runner.” He repeated, hoping for an answer. “The weapons facility is confirmed destroyed, I’m not sure how long I’ve been out. I’m in… in a log cabin, I’m not sure who brought me here.”

Still no response.

“Great.” he muttered, giving it up for now.

There were so many questions to ask, yet no answers to find. The cabin was nearly bare, only a small bed, a fireplace, and some evidence of food preparation. Who ever was in this cabin with him was long gone. Whatever rations, field kit, or equipment the stranger had with her were gone as well. There wasn’t a trace of the caretaker left for him to investigate.

Feeling less dizzy, he took his pistol at the ready, and went back over to the bed. He was beginning to shiver. It must’ve been day outside, still early morning judging by the sunlight that came in through the only window.

Still naked, he wrapped himself in the soft blanket on the bed. The blanket itself was soft, yet thick, military-grade. More than enough to keep him warm, even without a fire.

Then, Runner’s ears instinctively rose, there was a sound from outside the cabin. The subtle sound of footsteps on snow. He quietly let himself down from the cot and stuck the gun under his arm. Awkwardly, and with more noise than he would have liked, he turned the cot over to provide cover in case intruders came in through the entrance of the cabin. He kneeled down, readying the gun again in his good arm. A loose sheet of paper crinkled under his knee as he took aim at the door.

He ignored everything but the sounds outside, preparing himself for a possible firefight. The sounds were getting closer, until they eventually stopped. The cot wouldn’t provide anything but an initial cover. Just a extra second to act as they searched the room for him. It would have to be enough.

His knee slipped along the ground with his shifting weight— the paper. He glanced down, seeing it had torn slightly. Something scrawled across it. A note? He dared not drop his weapon and reach for it. Nothing moved outside. He extended his left arm, feeling a shock of pain as a nerve turned over within. It was hard to control it as it shook towards the paper— just— a little more—

He flipped it over and withdrew his arm to his chest again. Still, nothing outdoors moved. Maybe it was just snow shifting, falling from the roof or trees. He chanced another look at the paper.

Indeed, it was a note:

> I did everything I can for you. Sorry, couldn’t be here to see you off. I radioed your unit with your coordinates.
> 
> When next we meet, I will again be your enemy and I will kill you or you will kill me.
> 
> I look forward to it.
> 
> Godspeed, Runner.

There was no time to reflect on the words as the sound of splintering wood broke the silence. He was jostled violently back to reality.

Runner raised his weapon over the cover of the cot, prepared to fire.

“Runner!” The deer intruder said, lowering his weapon and raising his arms in peace. “Runner it’s OK, don’t shoot!”

Runner couldn’t shoot; his racing heart beat and adrenaline was too much. He quickly lost his grip on the pistol and fell to the floor.

“Crap,” The soldier said, quickly making his way over to him. “C, this is Therma, I’ve found Runner, repeat, I found Runner.”

So tired…

“Runner, stay with me. We’ll get you out of here.”

“Runner? How many hooves— holding—”

_Sleep again? I’m so very tired of sleeping. At least I know that the next time I wake up… I’ll wake up at home, the home I protected… Protected, if but one last time._

* * *

In the winter of 20W9, A Schevite weapon production facility in the Polminy mountains was destroyed, and with it, the designs for an experimental climate-altering weapon. Due to the black ops nature of the weapon, the only known copy of the weapon test data was lost. That same year, the CLOVEN 6 treaty was signed, banning all territories from developing weapons that permanently alter the climate.

20X1 - The Schevo Republic is dissolved. Its former member territories enter into a state of economic depression and instability.

20X4 - A classified Particle Exciter Weapon prototype called the Rubrum is stolen. To date, its current whereabouts are unknown.

* * *

[ ](http://imgur.com/QwIcvWH)

> Six years after the Night Runner incident
> 
> Wednesday, April 29th, 20X5
> 
> Mid-Morning
> 
> Savanna Central, Zootopian Department of Home Territory Security

“Someone calling themselves ‘C’ is asking you to come down to the lobby.” A female rabbit said, standing in front of his desk. Runner was taken from his daze. “Looks like the same horse lady from last week.”

Runner sat at his small desk, in a large busy room full of other desks and important looking and well-dressed mammals.

He stared for a moment, debating. The rabbit standing at his desk was his partner, and a rookie counter-intelligence agent.

“Parker,” He said, rubbing his temple, “Just tell them the same thing you did last week.”

“Or!” She started, pulling up a nearby chair and taking a seat, putting her elbows on Runner’s desk. “I could just make ‘em sit down there and we could sneak out the back after your shift. Maybe they’ll take the hint?”

“No, this ‘C’ person will just keep coming back every week.”

“Well, what does she want?” Parker asked, knowing full well that Runner would never answer this often asked question.

“Doesn’t matter,” He grinned at her before turning back to his computer, not actually going to do anything with it. “She’s someone I used to work with and that job didn’t do it for me. Nothing complicated.”

“OK…” She said, rolling her eyes. “I knew you were going to give me the same crap answer, so I did some digging—“

“Parker, don’t get involved in this.” Runner warned, leaning back in his chair. He tried to make the shutdown seem more casual by attempting to link his hands behind his head. A sharp spasm in his left arm rudely reminded him that simply wasn’t an angle he could bend it at. He sat back up and flattened them out on the desk instead. A safe posture, he knew. “Trust me, you won’t find anything. At least not anything interesting.”

“Aha,” Parker said, pointing a finger at him, her ears shot up, as she did when she got excited. “You think I’m just some crap agent that can’t do their homework.” She took out her phone and tapped away at it.

“What are you—“

“Look, see?” She said, pushing the phone in his face, a picture of Runner standing with a large female horse, among other mammals. Runner was smiling, saluting to the picture, with the horse placing her hoof on his back proudly. “This is the same horse that’s coming every week to see you. Her name is Wendolyn Cudder. Looks like a few years ago, she was your commanding officer.”

“Stop—“

“Ah, ah, I’m not finished,” She giggled in excitement, “Dude, this Wendolyn Cudder was involved in some crazy black-ops shit. Her codename is ‘C’! I don’t see any record of you working with her, but here you are! In this picture!”

“Listen to me!” Runner said, raising his paws to try to keep her quiet. “That was a long time ago, I don’t want _anything_ to do with that life anymore.”

“So you _admit_ it,” She grinned, talking through her teeth, looking around for eavesdroppers. “You used to be some ‘behind-enemy-lines’ super spy.”

“No!” He hissed, “You know what? Wherever you get these stupid ideas or conspiracies or whatever, just keep me out of them, OK?”

“You used to be a spy and now you’re just sitting at some desk? My _partner_ is some international spy!”

Runner groaned, “Yep, you’re not even listening anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you. It’s all bullshit. I’m gonna find out what you used to do, trust me.” She stood up and pushed the chair back to the desk it accompanied. “You don’t fool me. Just because we’ve been partners for four years—“

“Three.” He corrected.

“Huh?”

“We’ve been partners for _three_ years.”

“OK, whatever. I’ll be back, and this picture I found of you? I’ll find more.”

“Uh-huh.” He said dismissively as she walked away, probably off to do more research, or whatever it is she did when she wasn’t doing her job.

“Think whatever you want.” Runner said to himself, sighing. “That’s not me anymore… or maybe it never was.”

* * *

> Two days later
> 
> Friday, May 1st, 20X5
> 
> Noon
> 
> DHTS, Lobby

The taste of coffee, very sweet: cinnamon with a dash of cocoa powder. Not stirred in, just sprinkled on top among the curds of the whipped milk.

It was a luxury he afforded himself every day at lunch. There are certain behaviors one develops when trying to stay sane at a desk job. Although he couldn’t really consider it a desk job. He was constantly moving about the office, bringing paper work here, chatting with the occasional police officer or politician or even suspected terrorist there. It was truly a life of adventure.

Adventure, an adventure in the wonderful world of bureaucracy. Did this life suit him? Who could really say. Runner definitely couldn’t.

At the very least, Runner was alive. Beaten and bro—

A body bumped into him, someone walking quickly, possibly not watching where they were going, although Runner wasn’t attentive either. His coffee tumbled to the floor, spilled.

So much for the luxury of cinnamon and cocoa…

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The fox said quickly. “I was just in such a hurry, I didn’t—“

“My mistake, really,” Runner was quick to assure. Checking himself for any spilled coffee. The preferred sweetness of his coffee was sure to leave a sticky stain.

Finding nothing, he knelt down to pick up the spilled cup. In his haste to clean up, he led with his left arm which protested with a sudden jolt. He quickly switched arms and picked the cup up with his right.

“What were you drinking?” The female fox said, her voice still thick with remorse, and a certain accent. “I’ll be sure to buy you another.”

“Oh, no, I—“ Runner looked at her carefully for a moment. She was taller, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. She was an arctic fox, pure white fur, black nose. She was wearing a business suit as pure white as she was. “Do I… Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Know me?” The fox said, puzzled. “Surely not, I don’t really work here, I’m just a consultant.”

Runner couldn’t decide if he was just being delusional. The lobby they were in didn’t have many mammals this time of day, and she was past the security check. Maybe he was just putting too much thought into it.

“Look, again, I’m really sorry,” She reiterated, her accent apparent with every word. “I was in a hurry and I didn’t notice you.”

“Really, don’t worry about it.” He assured, tossing the empty cup into a nearby trashcan, “I need to get back to my office but— maybe you’d want to go out for coffee with me another day?”

Did he really just say that? Runner found himself surprised. Anything to keep her talking, to pinpoint that voice. The melody of her cadence, the way her vowels shifted slightly in her non-native language.

“Oh, sure!” She said, almost excitedly. Runner couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but she seemed somewhat… _in-genuine_. “I’m Patrina. Patrina Sternfang.”

“Patrina,” He smiled, finding the answer he looked for all these years. The voice in the dark. Now the arctic fox in the light. “I’ll remember that. I’m James.”

“Hmm, nice to meet you, _James_.” She grinned peculiarly.

There was something strange in her voice now. It all seemed so familiar, and yet off.

“I’m sorry, are you sure we’ve never met?” He pressed again, encouraging, “Because I’m sure I’d remember such a pretty _voice_ as yours.”

Patrina stared for a moment, as if still confused by his insistence. But the stare quickly turned into a sour smile as she leaned forward to his height.

“So, you do remember me, _James_ ,” She said sweetly, her accent seemingly dropped away. She leaned closer, whispering. “I waited for you, Runner. I waited for you and you never came.”

“Who are you?” He asked quietly.

“Who am I?” She whispered, placing a claw underneath his chin. “Why, I’m _disappointed_.”

With that, she straightened back up, an innocent smile on her muzzle. All the malice was washed away from her face with a single blink.

“Nice meeting you, James.” She said, the accent back in full, walking around him. “Maybe I’ll see you later for that coffee I owe you.”

Runner watched as she walked away. What did all of that mean? Why was she here? She had waited for him… waited for _what?_

“Hey, buddy.” Another female voice snapped him out of his daze. “Didn’t think you were into preds.”

It was Parker. She was leaning over the sofa’s armrest to the side of the lobby. She hardly looked like she worked there at all, her sleeves rolled up unevenly and dress pants weren’t even hemmed to her height.

“You’re doing that thing again...” He said, looking back to the white fox to find she was no longer there.

“What thing?”

“Y’know. That thing you do where you think you know what’s going on but you really don’t.”

“You ask that fox chick out?” She asked teasingly. “She’s pretty hot, right?”

“Hmm.” Was all he had to say. He started walking towards the elevators, gesturing his friend to follow.

“I mean, it’s not like you couldn’t use a date.” Parker said, “How long this dry spell’s been going? Three years? Or longer than I’ve known ya?”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” He pushed the button to call the elevator.

“Whoa, easy, easy… What’s with this _mammal-of-mystery ‘tude_ all of a sudden?”

Runner snickered, “It’s nothing. Maybe I’m just getting too old for the dating scene, you know?”

“James, dude, are you for real? You’re only like 34, right?”

The two stepped inside the elevator.

“Yeah, 34, I definitely feel older.” He said, pressing the button for their floor.

“Hey, don’t start talking like that, you’re gonna make me feel old.”

James thought for a moment, his eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you like, twenty?”

“Twenty- _one_.” She corrected.

“If you were really feeling old, you wouldn’t correct your age to be older.” He said, in a brash voice. She really was too young to be talking like that.

The two sat in a brief silence as the elevator rose ever higher.

“Hey,” Parker said, “Before you go off in your own mind again, you didn’t answer me. I saw you checkin’ that fox chick out.”

“Maybe I was,” Runner grinned.

“Hmm, well, you be sure to let me know how that ‘coffee’ goes.” She nudged him on the shoulder, laughing.

The doors to the elevator opened, revealing an open office area.

“If that ‘coffee’ works out the way she thinks it will,” He said, giving her a side grin. “You might not need to hear it from me.”

“What, she’s gonna go around talking about what a hot date _you_ are?” Parker scoffed. She shook her head in confusion, wondering if the innuendo was lost on James. He had said stranger things in the time she had known him.

And there were stranger things still yet to come.

* * *

> Afternoon

His car sputtered before giving out its last gasp and dying.

“Oh, great. Perfect!” He said calmly, nodding. “Of course, this happens.”

Being in the middle of summer, it was hot. Runner didn’t take well to the heat. He much preferred the cool air of winter, or the year-round climate of Tundra Town. But it would seem that Runner much preferred a great many things to his current situation.

Grumbling in frustration, he popped open his hood and began investigating his engine. It was hot, steaming, and lifeless. Runner had only opened the hood so that he could stare unapprovingly at it, for he had no idea how to troubleshoot the engine of a car, much less the engine of anything.

He wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods, nearby used car lots and empty warehouses. The hot asphalt burned against his feet. It wasn’t exactly gang territory, but it also wasn’t the safest place to be for a well-dressed hare like Runner. In truth, his clothes were worth close to nothing, he was just very savvy at thrift store shopping. He also found solace in that his car was not the best looking one on the road, even in this part of town.

Runner calmly closed the hood and took out his cell phone. He tapped at it and opened the app to request roadside assistance.

“Right, _of course_ I didn’t.” He said, slightly less calmly, finding that the app reported that he had not paid his insurance premium in over four months. Runner tried to keep his cool but, thanks in part to the blazing sun, he was quickly beginning to lose it.

He began dialing for a tow company. As he dialed the last number, the touchscreen flashed a battery indicator and then shut down.

Runner closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. He tossed the useless phone into the open window of his equally useless car.

He crouched down to sit on his haunches on the shady side of his vehicle, too overwhelmed to care about the heated asphalt beneath him. The sweat on the back of his neat dress shirt cooled against the shaded car door.

He sat for a moment. Thinking. How did things end up like this? What lead him to take such a different turn in his life? Was he happy? Was he _ever_ happy?

The answers to all of those questions were unknown to him. All he knew was that he was still alive… Beaten, and broken, but alive.

Runner got to his feet, sighing heavily.

“Better get pushing,” He said to no one but himself, “Hang in there… Jack.”

A name he hadn’t been called or used in a long time. He found himself saying it in his head, or when he was alone, as if to remember who he used to be. Jack. It was a life long gone, far away.

With that, he resigned himself to his fate: pushing his worthless car along the hot asphalt, pondering what lay ahead, if anything.

All those years ago, Runner had survived because of one mysterious mammal. For some unknown reason, she had found him again, and had declared her disapproval of his current life. Although, one could say that Runner wasn’t exactly happy about the way his life turned out either. Who was this fox? Was she truly the one who had rescued and so tenderly cared for him?

Maybe she shouldn’t have bothered. Maybe _Jack_ was ready to die on that mission, ready to die for his territory, ready to die so the world could live without fear of Climate Destroying Weapons. Whatever Jack wanted, Runner knew now that he was afraid.

He had lived to die another day, or perhaps… he had died that day and kept on living.

> What a shame it is for a mammal to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength for which their body is capable.
> 
>   * Sowcrates
> 



	2. The Wonders of the Atom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by: LotharHex, Jeinu, and Erinnyes
> 
> Big thanks to my beta readers for helping proofread this chapter! (And to my original Editor!)
> 
> And thanks to everyone that patiently waited for me to start writing again, my writers block is gone and I'm feeling the romance bug better than ever! I hope you all enjoy the direction that Consecution is taking and Chapter 3 should post next weekend.

> _8 Years ago_
> 
> _Tuesday June 26th, 20W7_

CIVIL EMERGENCY BROADCAST

This is an emergency message from the Zootopian Department of Territorial Defense. This is not a test.

At approximately 12:19 PM Central Zootopian Time, we detected a long-range cobalt missile launch from an island in the South Altan Ocean.

This missile is believed to be headed in the direction of the Central Zootopian metropolitan area. Due to its current speed and trajectory it will drop from low-orbit and impact the city in the next two to three hours.

All residents within 800 miles of this area are advised to seek a fallout shelter immediately.

Cobalt-based nuclear weapons produce a far greater amount of fallout than conventional nuclear weapons, and are designed to cause permanent and extreme damage to the ecosystem and climate of the target area. Fallout is extremely dangerous and is a byproduct of the initial atomic detonation.

If you are unable to locate a fallout shelter in your area, please seek assistance from local authorities. Please be advised that availability may be limited for larger sized mammals, check with your local authorities if you are a large class species.

Take a battery powered radio or smartphone and any essential supplies with you to the fallout shelter. We will begin broadcasting further information on survival and the state of the city after impact.

Attempting to take shelter in a non-approved location, or fleeing the potential detonation zone is not advised as your survivability could be severely limited. Atomic attacks are nearly impossible to outrun, as the blast radius is far greater than the distance any conventional vehicle can travel.

This message will repeat, please standby.

 

* * *

 

 

> _Island of Whiskershreik, South Altan Ocean_
> 
> _Afternoon_
> 
> _38 minutes until missile impact_
> 
> _7 hours into Operation Flame Runner_

“So close,” Whiskershreik said in his slight Schevite accent, almost cackling with his deep raspy voice, “ _SO close_. Such a shame, I expected more from you, Runner.”

“Likewise,” Runner said to the cocky black panther. “I seem to have made it this far without much of an effort. I’m disappointed, I didn’t even have to kill anyone.”

Runner was being held by the arms by two large henchmen, both tigers, either perfectly strong enough to hold Runner in place. He had finally been captured close to his target: the computer console in Whiskershreik’s main office that could remotely abort the cobalt warhead hurtling toward Zootopia. And yet…

“Cocky until the end, much to be expected of course...” Whiskershreik said, walking over to a selection of alcoholic drinks at a nearby bar. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“Coffee,” Runner requested, “Lots of sugar, cinnamon, with a dash of cocoa powder.”

Whiskershreik turned to give a puzzled look at Runner, before letting out a sly smile, “I suppose you have been skulking around my island for several hours, you could use some coffee. I much prefer a stiff drink myself, but I suppose you’re right. Wouldn’t want to start the hard stuff right before the big bang.”

They were in what seemed to be Whiskershreik’s living and work space. It was well-furnished, complete with a large glass work desk and computer. There was a fully equipped kitchen, with  a large panoramic window showed across most of the island and ocean. The base was built into the side of the mountain of the volcano, tall trees shrouded much of the area outside of the window. A true lair for any evil mastermind.

“Your name’s a bit long, no?” Runner said. There was something in his pocket, something he  had to get out without the use of his arms.

“I beg your _pardon_?”

“Your name, ‘ _Whiskershreik_ ’.” He said mockingly, ”How about I just call you ‘Whiskers?’”

“Hmm,” Whiskershreik walked towards Runner, foregoing the drink he was about to prepare. He reached into the pocket that Runner was eyeing, finding nothing, he reached into the coat to one of his interior pockets.

“Whoa,” Runner said, feigning offense, “Got any concept of _personal space_?”

Whiskers pulled out a narrow, long device; its function was not apparent.

“Really?” Whiskershreik raised an eyebrow at the tiger henchmen that were holding Runner in place. “Gadgets. Do they not teach you cats how to search for gadgets?”

“I’m gonna need that back, Whiskers.” Runner said smoothly, readying the button ring on his finger, “Please be careful with it.”

“Mmm, yes, I’m sure.” Whiskers pocketed the device, not giving it a second look, “If you _insist_ on calling me such a disrespectful name, I’m sure you won’t mind if I call you by one as well, ‘ _Jack_ ’.” He crouched down to Runner’s level, grinning cockily.

Runner simply looked away, sighing laboriously.

Whiskers straightened out, turned, and headed back toward the mini-kitchen. “Now how about that drink?” He snapped his padded finger, signifying to the guards. “Leave us.”

The two guards released their tight grip of both of Runner’s arms, allowing blood flow back into them as they slumped to his sides. The guards left the room after nodding their acknowledgement of the order.

“That’s it?” Runner asked, puzzled, “No restraints? I don’t need a weapon to kill you.”

“You overestimate yourself, Jack.” Whiskers began pouring water into a kettle. “You may not need a weapon, but unlike you I actually have one.” He brandished his revolver, hidden in its holster behind the overcoat of his fancy black suit. “But I don’t think I’ll be needing it. Have a seat.” He gestured towards a curved couch and its accompanying coffee table.

“Why is that? What’s stopping me from attacking you right now? After all, millions of lives are at stake and I have twenty minutes left to stop you.”

“That’s precisely why,” He lightly chuckled, “Surely your precious commander has already informed you that the missile will be impossible to stop if I’m not conscious, let alone dead.”

Runner stayed quiet and moved towards the couch. Whiskers was right; the biometric scanner in the room would detect that he was in an irregular state and thus not allow any new orders to be sent to the missile.

He clicked the ring on his finger in a sequence. Careful not to let Whiskers hear.

“Just a few more minutes, Runner,” the female voice in from the radio hidden in his ear. “SATR is tracking the missile, it’s almost within range of the Conifer.”

He clicked a few times in acknowledgement.

Runner knew the Conifer to be Zootopia’s underground climate control column. Its auxiliary ability of remotely altering and manipulating materials was useful in protecting the city from ballistics and other threats.

“Here,” Whiskers said from behind, handing down a mug of coffee. Runner took it, saying nothing.

Whiskers walked around the couch and took a seat in an armchair across from him.

“Tell me, _Jack_.” He started, talking a drink from his own mug, the contents of which were unknown to Runner. “Tell me. Why are you trying to put a stop to what needs to happen?”

Runner choked slightly as he took a sip of the coffee. “Destroying Zootopia… You’re saying that _needs_ to happen?!”

“Zootopia, Vostox, Obreigh, it doesn’t matter.” Whiskers said as he waved a black paw in the air.

“ _Vostox_?” Runner mused, skeptically, “You expect me to believe that you would launch a nuclear attack on your own capital?”

“You assume that because I am a Schevite that I would not strike my own homeland?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “If it would serve my purpose to demonstrate the power of cobalt weapons, I would have done so. And whether it’s nuclear weapons, environmental weapons or even just rioting, it all boils down to one thing: conflict.”

Runner paused for a moment, putting his drink down on the coffee table in front of him. “You’re asking… why I try to stop conflict?”

“What I’m doing is simply causing conflict, no?” Whiskers put down his drink as well. “The scale of what I’m doing is much greater, of course. But it’s still just conflict.”

“I don’t think I understand…” Runner said, a little surprised at himself that he was expecting anything more than the ravings of a lunatic to spill forth from his enemy. “What you’re doing is destroying an entire city and everyone in it. I can’t really agree that all you’re doing is causing ‘conflict.’”

“I won’t argue that what I’m doing is not a horrible thing, but I am not insane.”

Runner scoffed hardily at the notion.

“But what happens when conflict becomes so great? When we destroy ourselves?” Whiskers continued his rambling. “Do we not adapt? Do we not _rebuild?_ To learn from our mistakes and come out stronger for it?”

“You’re dropping a _salted_ bomb!” Whatever the insane panther was trying to get at, he wasn’t interested in his bullshit. “It’s designed to _prevent_ rebuilding! Or anyone even having a chance of living in that area _ever again!_ ”

Whiskers shook his head, snickering. A snicker that filled Runner with contempt.

“You’re running out of time, Jack.” Whiskers slowly reached into his overcoat with one paw, “You just don’t get it, maybe we’ll save this discussion for another day, when you’re not so naïve. How about we make things interesting…?” He pulled the revolver out and showed it off briefly before setting it on the table next to their drinks. He grinned menacingly, “I am now unarmed, surely you’ll be showing me those legendary skills any second now.”

Whatever Whiskers intended him to do, whatever gesture he was trying to imply, Runner had had enough. He slid his ring slightly and pressed one of the buttons.

The device that Whiskers had pocketed earlier began to emit a long beep. “What?!” He exclaimed. The was no time to do much in reaction before the electric discharge of the device caused his whole body to seize. “Nrgh!” He convulsed, twitched, and writhed until he ended up on the floor.

Runner immediately leapt from the couch, grabbing the revolver that was almost too large for him to hold properly, and rushed toward the computer that looked out the panoramic window.

“C,” Runner said after activating his embedded radio, “How much time left?”

“You’ve got eight minutes, Runner.” C replied back, “You’ve got to hurry!”

“I’m at Whiskershreik’s computer, he’s still conscious,” Runners heart was beating out of his chest. There was no room for error, any slip up would result in the deaths of millions of mammals.

“Calm down,” C said reassuringly, yet sternly, “You’ve got to disable the particle shielding on the ICBM, and you’ll need to lower its trajectory, it’s flying too high for the Conifer to affect it.”

“Got it, I’m looking…” Runner recalled what intel showed about how Whiskers’ computer should look like. He input the new trajectory and put in the order to eject the shielding panels. “The order is transmitting.”

“Good,” C said, “Now, just keep Whiskershreik alive. We can’t allow him to do anything drastic.”

Runner looked back at the black panther, still writhing on the floor, a look of pain and resentment on his face.

The computer made a sound, signifying that the orders had transmitted and the missile was adjusting itself.

“Runner,” C said, a hint of relief in her voice. “We’re registering that the missile has jettisoned its shielding panels, now it just needs to come into range.”

Whiskers stopped convulsing, he had managed to shake the device away from his coat pocket and was recovering.

Runner hopped over to the panther, gun pointed.

“It’s all over, Whiskers.” Runner said, allowing a smug grin to overtake his face.

“Ah, so…” Whiskers tried to reply, but labored to do so, “So it seems. _Well_ done, Jack.”

What was this attitude? Was it simply an insane mammal giving an insane congratulations? Or perhaps…

“How does it feel?” Whiskers spoke as if this defeat was planned, or… at the very least, unsurprising. “How does it feel to beat me yet again?”

Runner humphed, being careful to watch the room for any unexpected surprises. “It feels the same as last time, and the time before that. I’ll stop you as many times as it takes.”

“Then why not make this time the last?” He replied, groaning as he got back to his feet and sat back down in the arm chair. “Do it, Jack. If the world truly has no need for conflict, then do it, pull the trigger and put a stop to my madness once and for all. Put a bullet in my brain, bring peace to the world forever!”

Raising an eyebrow, Runner clicked the ring on his finger. He never took his eyes off of the rambling cat.

“C, what’s the status of the missile?”

“You did it, Runner.” C confirmed, the celebrated sounds of other voices in the command submarine were apparent, “The Conifer was able to over-excite the fission primary in the first stage of the warhead. Detonation is no longer possible.”

“So it’s done…” Runner breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“Yes, the missile’s thrusters are being over-burned to push its trajectory over Zootopia Sound, it’ll fall harmlessly into the bay… What about Whiskershreik? Is he still conscious?”

Whiskers hadn’t moved, he was still grinning, politely waiting for Runner to finish his conversation.

“He is,” Runner confirmed, “I have him at gunpoint, the rest of the base is unaware.”

“Understood, the sub will surface at the extraction point. SATR will come in later to clean up the base.”

“Got it.”

“Runner, listen. I know what you’re probably going to do, and this isn’t an order. But the immediate termination of Whiskershreik has been authorized.”

Runner hummed to himself, then ended the transmission.

“So… what did your commander say?” Whiskers asked, holding his hands in the air expectantly. “Are you going to kill me this time? I’m completely defenseless, a perfect target.”

Taking a few seconds to think, Runner pulled back the hammer on the revolver. “If I don’t kill you now, we’ll be back at this all over again.”

“A studious answer,” Whiskers mocked in return, “You’ve failed to kill me up to this point. Now you must correct that error.”

What exactly was Whiskers getting at? Did he _want_ to die? Maybe his pride was just so irreparably damaged that he thought it best to be ended by his arch-nemesis. Whatever the case was—

There was no more time to think.

“What are you doing?” Whiskers hissed quietly into his coat’s collar. “Shoot him _now_!”

“Wha—?!” Runner scanned the room, but it came quickly. A hole appeared in the window, it was almost silent. Runner’s instinct kicked in, before he realized what had happened his body had threw itself behind cover: the nearby kitchen counter.

“Damnit! She _missed_ , ugh, _stupid_ fox!” Whiskers cursed, unseen.

Runner readied the overly large weapon. While he was unequipped, and wholly unprepared to deal with a sniper, he needed to prevent Whiskers from escaping. He peeked around the corner of the counter, careful not to expose himself to the window. A swipe came, a massive clawed paw. It caught him on the underside of his chin, scratching him; the shear force of the blow sent him and the revolver arcing across the room. Runner recovered and landed on his feet, albeit weaponless.

Before him stood Whiskershreik, pointing another revolver at him.

“I must confess,” Whiskers began, “I always carry more than one weapon. I was never defenseless, Jack.”

“I can’t tell you that I’m surprised,” Runner quickly realized that not only was another revolver being pointed at him, but he was in full view of the window.

“Stand up.” Whiskers demanded calmly, cocking the hammer on his gun.

Complying, he raised his paws, knowing he was putting himself in the sights of another unseen weapon, a perilous situation. Just in case, he quickly checked himself for a gunshot wound, but found nothing.

“I’m surprised,” Whiskers said smugly. “You know me well enough to know that I _always_ have a back-up plan. Did you really think I would allow myself to be caught defenseless?”

“It doesn’t matter any more,” Runner shook his head, “You’ve lost, the missile has been stopped and SATR is already on its way to destroy this place. Shoot me if you want, all that matters is that Zootopia is safe.”

Whiskers chuckled, “You really think this is over? That I would put in all this effort for a _single_ warhead?”

“What?” Runner’s heart sank, he should’ve known. “What are you saying?”

“We’ve finally developed a missile that can travel, unharmed, through the influence range of your _precious_ Conifer. It would be a shame to waste that technology.”

“But why Zootopia? Why are you so obsessed with destroying Zootopia?”

“Ah,” He tilted a brow in response, “It’s not the city I’m after, I want to destroy the Conifer. I will show the world that _no one_ is safe. I will show _everyone_ that the world still needs mammals like us.”

 _Mammals like us?_ Runner’s mind raced for meaning, _Why am I even trying to find reason in this lunatic’s ramblings?_

“Ah, but you’ve got me by my weakness, you of all mammals know that I love the sound of my own voice. Time to end this, Jack.” Whiskers grinned, he leaned to speak into his shirt collar, “Kill him. This time, don’t miss.”

Runner didn’t have time to think, another hole appeared silently in the window, his heart skipped a beat, he slammed his eyes shut, expecting to feel some sign that he was shot.

“Argh!” Whiskers screamed, his gun tumbled to the floor, “My hand!”

Runner opened his eyes, the sniper had missed again.

Whiskers cradled his hand, that sniper bullet had passed through it and impacted the wall opposite. He swiveled his head back to the window in anguish, and a spark of realization drew over his face. He scowled, staggered back, and retreated from Runner, abandoning his bravado.

“This isn’t over, we’ll meet again!” Whiskers promised as he ran towards what appeared to be a safe room on the far side, “All men, full alert!”

An alarm blared, cutting sharply into Runners’ acute hearing, he dropped his ears to help with the pain, to little avail. He quickly picked up the bloody revolver on the floor, just as the door to the room burst open revealing the two tiger guards that had him captive earlier. Time appeared to slow, there was nowhere close enough to take cover, both tigers had their weapons drawn and were ready to fire. The alarm stopped sounding.

“Get down!” An unknown female voice shouted from his radio.

Again, he found himself driven by instincts, his body dived toward the floor. Fully prone, he then moved to aim the revolver at the two guards.

One slumped to the floor, a bullet wound already in his forehead, the other, gurgled, clutching his bleeding throat, quickly losing consciousness. Then, he too slumped unpleasantly to the floor, bleeding out.

Runner got to his feet and scanned the room for the black panther, but the door to the safe room was already sealed. He had escaped, again.

Runner clicked his ring, trying to raise the female voice that had warned him. The transmission was accepted.

“Who is this?!” He said demanded.

Silence.

“You helped me, why?” He continued to question, desperate for answers. “How did you get my radio frequency?”

More silence.

“Answer me!”

The transmission cut, and another came in.

“Runner! Get out of there!” C’s familiar voice shouted back, “The whole base is on high alert! You’ve got multiple targets heading to your position!”

“C, there’s a sniper here, sounded like they defected. They shot at Whiskershreik and took out two of the guards.”

“That’s not possible, there are no other operatives that…” C paused, “We don’t have time to worry about that now, thank your stars that they’re on your side and get to the extraction point _now!_ ”

“Fine, I’m on my way.”

— End Transmission —


	3. Atomic Spies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by: Jeinu and LotharHex

> _Present day_
> 
> _Friday, May 1st, 20X5_
> 
> _Evening_
> 
> _Runner’s apartment_

Runner took off his stained overcoat. It was wrinkled and dirty from fiddling with his engine and pushing his car in the summer heat, definitely not up to par with his usual preferred tastes.

He sighed and tossed the overcoat onto the nearby couch. His apartment was dark and small, yet clean and tidy. His furnishings were kept to a minimum. Continuing to undress, he slid his arms out from his suspenders and began unbuttoning his dress shirt. It was dark outside, cool, yet the heat from the summer sun still lingered in his fur. It felt nice to expose the warm fur on his chest to the cool air of his apartment.

Runner lived a rather modest life, a far cry from the lifestyle he used to lead. Now, his life was lived on a budget, something that took far longer to get used to than Runner would have liked to admit. At first, it was daunting, the idea that if you ran out of money, you went hungry…. Or worse. And Runner found out the hard way that mammals like hares were usually underpaid in today’s society; government work was no exception.

Six years ago, Runner’s life was made, he had the best cars, the best living spaces, the hottest girls. Looking back, he found it quite sickening how perfect his life was, and how he lived with utter abandon for anything but his success. His new life of thrift stores and cheap Grazian take-out was anything but glamorous, but it did teach him to see a lot of the things he was missing in life.

Was Runner truly happy with the way his life turned out? He found himself asking this question increasingly as the years went by, even more so now that his past was starting to rear its head once again. One thing was for sure, Runner wasn’t happy. Maybe he was never happy, maybe he didn’t know what happiness was. But he wasn't sad either. Runner lived in the miserable world of melancholy.

As he ruminated wearily, alone in his dark apartment, he decided he wasn’t hungry despite pushing his car nearly all the way home. What other choice did one have? Either he would pay for food for the week, or he would call to have his car repaired. How he would get to work was a worry for another day. It was Friday, the benefits of a government desk job was an intact weekend at the very least.

He rubbed his eyes and made his way towards the fridge and as he reached to flip on the light, something caught his eye. The curtain above the sink brushed up against the narrow cupboards in his cramped kitchenette. The subtle sound of the city, not so far below. And a slight breeze that pushed the curtain rhythmically.

He raised his ears, alerting himself to any sound that may occur behind him. He slowly reached for the non-lethal taser pistol that sat in its holster on the side of his chest. He slowed his breathing, listening.

Runner never opened his windows, especially in the summer heat of May. He much preferred the cold, and one of the all too scarce plusses of his new life came in the form of a central air-conditioner—

A paw reached from behind, grabbing him. He spun around, pulling the taser from the holster. But before he could aim it, he felt his body being lifted by a taller, stronger attacker. He was thrown, the vertigo of not connecting with the floor overwhelmed him as he landed on his back, the glass end table beneath him tipped and shattered on the floor.

He tumbled, using the momentum of the throw and what little he had of his equilibrium to gain distance. Despite the skillful roll, he inelegantly landed on his butt, emitting a huff as he scuttled for the cover of his nearby couch. It was placed toward the center of the room, facing away from his larger living room window.

He made to ready his weapon. However, it was no longer in his grasp, lost in the chaos.

“Shit…” he cursed quietly.

Weaponless, he had to move quickly, find the intruder and counterattack, hand-to-hand. He pulled a knife from its sheath opposite of his now empty gun holster. Runner always brought a knife for close combat. He never needed it nowadays, but the habit had stuck with him.

Peeking over the top of the couch, he looked around the dark room. Finding nothing, he lowered his head and raised his ears, listening. Runner had to rely on his hearing in the darkness of the living room.

His nose twitched uncontrollably. He was scared, scenarios of being murdered in his own home flashed in his mind. Runner fought against the thoughts, remembering to calm himself and make ready for combat.

But he heard nothing, there were no footsteps, no breathing, no friction of clothing against fur. Nothing but the pounding heart in his own chest, the vibrations in his own body.

He slowed his breathing, knife ready for any surprise—

“Hm-hm,” A voice tittered maliciously. So near, so _right behind him_.

He spun, readying his knife to strike, but his enemy was quick. The figure pounced him, grabbing his arms. It was a blur, Runner’s mind lagged behind the consecution of events. His once quick mind had slowed, dulled over the years.

He grimaced, eyes slowly opening. Was it done? Did he lose? Was it finally time to die?

“Hmm, hello, Runner.” A familiar female voice said sweetly.

Runner gasped, his breath was ragged. “P-Patrina…”

His own knife was pressed against the flesh of his chin, ready to plunge in and end it all. Runner was expecting her, but no matter how much he prepared, the familiar thoughts of death terrified him as he stared at his would-be assassin.

“I’m here for that coffee I owe you,” She tittered softly. The wide foxy grin on her face was noticeable even in the dark room, her sharp canines catching the dim light. “I’m disappointed that this is all it took to end the once _great_ Runner.”

“S-s-sorry to disappoint you,” He tried to level his voice, but the threat of death gripped at his chest.

“Mmm, I bet you get that a lot…” She watched Runner’s face for a moment, just staring, her eyes gleaming in the dark. “Disappointment…”

It’s true what they say. You really can hear it in someone’s voice when they are smiling. And Runner could tell, she was no longer smiling.

“Why, Runner?” She asked quietly, her voice edged with a certain emotion. It was almost… sadness. “I waited for you.”

“You said that earlier.” He said. It was strange, feeling the warm breath of his attacker as she spoke. It helped to calm him. Her grip, on him and the knife, loosened, the pointed tip of the lethal blade no longer poked at his flesh. “What do you mean?”

“I…” She hesitated, her voice changing, losing its former luster. “I don’t understand… Just tell me why.”

“Why?” He asked, confused. “I should be asking you that.”

Silence, she just stared, with her sorrowful eyes. She stared right through him… no… _into_ him. He could feel her slowing breath, her eyes on his own, so close.

“Why did you save me?” He finally asked, finally relaxed despite his situation.

No response, just the weight of this mysterious fox pressing down on him.

“I don’t know.” She finally said. While her hold on him loosened, she was still not going to let him up. Her breath quickened again, she grimaced. And just like that, the malice was back. Her grip tightened, the knife pressed once again into his throat. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. Look at who you are now! You’re pathetic! I waited for you for _six years!_ The fall of my homeland, the rise and fall of the War of Fear, the attack on Obreigh, where were you?!”

“I—“ he tried to speak, but she quickly pressed down on his chest as she leaned ever closer.

“Maybe I should’ve let you die,” She hissed, leaned up and began sliding the knife up and down his bare chest, dragging it in a sawing motion. The more fury she allowed in her voice, the thicker her Schevite accent became. “Maybe I’m here to correct my mistake, you are _nothing_ of the mammal you used to be.”

Runner had enough. She was right. What was he running from? Ever since Operation Night Runner, ever since his close call with death, he had feared the end, feared that at any moment he would make a wrong move and end up coming home in a body bag. He was a coward.

Maybe… maybe it was time to stop running. To finally accept his fate.

As Runner pondered this, Patrina leaned forward once again to place the knife below his neck, her other arm pressing hard against his chest.

“Maybe…” he gulped, laboring to talk with so much weight pressing upon him. “Maybe you should have.”

“What?—“

“Do it.” He stared back into those gleaming eyes, resolute. “If that’s what you think, then _do it_ . Better to die by the hands of the one who saved my life.” _Jack_ wasn’t afraid anymore. In that instant, he felt warmth, comfort, to be guided into the darkness of death by this mysterious vixen, the one who had nursed him back to health so long ago. It seemed so fitting, so… poetic.

Jack grabbed her wrists and lifted his head. He said nothing more, only pressing ever so slowly into the knife she threatened him with. The knife broke skin.

“Ah!” The vixen gasped, startled, withdrawing the knife in one cautious motion.

He felt the blood beading in his fur, the tiny wound on his neck stung, _burned_.

“Change your mind?” He asked, watching the vixen slowly sit up, and stand apart from him.

The white figure in the dark turned around and walked away. There were the sounds of her padding towards the door, the knife dropping on a nearby end table, then her leaving. This time through the front door, instead of the window.

He lay there for what seemed to be hours. He thought of nothing, his mind blank. Only the emotions, strange emotions, ones that he had not felt in a long time. What emotions? Who could really say? Jack definitely couldn’t.

 

* * *

 

> _Saturday, May 2nd, 20X5_
> 
> _Early Morning_

“James,” a female voice called from behind. It was a familiar voice, a welcome one, and one he had not heard in a long time.

He turned around, the only other figure in the deserted parking complex so early in the morning was that of his old friend; Wendolyn Cudder.

“Commander…” he grinned.

“I’m not your commander anymore,” the tall horse reminded. “I’m just Wendy now.”

Runner tittered, “Wendy… I don’t think I can call you that.” He looked up at her, as she was nearly three times his height. She wore a simple brown suit, with a brown fedora. “But then again, I’ve always ever called you ‘C.’”

“That’s interesting,” She shook her head, pausing to rub a hoof between his ears. “Coming from someone who’s been avoiding me.”

“Hmm,” The grin on his face faded as he looked away from her. C had been coming to Runner’s workplace and asking to speak to him. She had done so every week for the past month. “Sorry…”

Wendy took in a breath, “Sorry is all you have to say?” She laughed lightheartedly, “I figured you would’ve owed me more than that, old friend.”

“C, I know what—“ He started.

“Wendy.” She interrupted, reminding him not to use codenames in a civilian setting, a rookie mistake that she was surprised Runner had made.

“Right… _Wendy_.” He waved a paw dismissively. “I know what you’ve been coming to the DHTS building for. I’m not interested.”

Wendy looked around the quiet parking complex, she shook her head. “Can’t an old war buddy come and say ‘hi’? Maybe I was coming around to see if you wanted to have lunch. I haven’t seen you in six years.”

“Exactly,” Runner said sternly, putting his paws in his pockets, looking up at his ‘old war buddy’. “You don’t see me for six years, then you show up at my office a week after we find the whereabouts of the Rubrum.”

A look of surprise overtook Wendy’s face, but then quickly faded. “So you know about the Rubrum then.”

“I work in counterintelligence,” he reminded. “I’m not counter _to_ intelligence.”

Wendy laughed, “No, I suppose not. In any case, that’s not quite what I want to talk to you about.”

“Is that right?” He scoffed, choosing to remain skeptical. “I just want to make one thing clear: I’m not… I can’t go back to that life.”

“I’m retired, James. Even _I_ left that life behind.”

It was true, and Runner already knew that. After Operation Night Runner, all members of the unit were reassigned, retired, or… It seems like the whole mess was just swept under the rug.

Runner didn’t respond, just crossed his arms.

“I just want to talk,” She sighed, “And if what I have to say doesn’t interest you, then I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”

Runner looked up at the horse, trying to gauge her sincerity. Normally, he would have just walked away from her, but with what happened last night…

“I’ll think about it.” He relented, dropping his arms and digging his phone out of his pocket. “Give me your number.”

The two exchanged their contact information. Something Runner had no interest in doing up until this point, and he wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe he felt comforted by the appearance of his friend after almost being murdered just a few hours ago.

“Don’t take too long,” Wendy warned.

“Uh-huh.” He dismissed, turning to walk towards his car. He tapped at his phone and the car unlocked itself. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to figure out how to get my car fixed.”

“Mmm, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that,” Wendy said snidely.

Runner stopped, turned around, and gave Wendy a suspicious look. “And why is that?”

“That friend you had over last night.” Wendy grinned, “She’s quite the mechanic. Your car is up and running. I’ll even vouch for her; she didn’t do anything funny to it.”

Runner’s eyes grew wide, “Y-you—.“

“Like I said,” She turned towards the elevator, “Don't take too long, we have much to discuss.”

 

* * *

 

> _Noon_
> 
> _Savanna Central, Caribrew Cafe_

“So what’s got you all shaken up?” Parker asked, waving her paw in front of Runner.

“Hmm?” Runner looked up from his paws, allowing himself to come back to reality.

“Sheesh, you’re really out of it.” She snickered, grinning. “You OK?”

“Yeah.” He shook his head, rubbing his closed eyes with a paw. “Long night.”

“Ahh, the _coffee!_ ” Parker pointed at him knowingly.

“Yes, coffee.” Runner nodded mockingly, “We’re at a coffee shop. Drinking coffee.”

Scoffing, Parker rolled her eyes. “You know what I meant, dipshit. How did it go? You go out with that arctic pred chick? Did it turn into more than just coffee?”

“You really need to slow down that imagination.”

“Well, what happened?” She insisted, getting the look on her face as if ready to hear the nitty gritty. “James, I will seriously flip this table and our coffee over on you if you don’t tell me.”

Runner quickly took a sip of his latte in case she made good on that threat. He was still processing the events of last night, and maybe the reality of what had happened hadn’t hit him yet. It was only fair, the reason Runner called Parker here was for him to talk to her. After all, she was his only real friend in this new life.

“Parker…” He shook his head.

She leaned in, bright eyed, expectantly.

“I think we hit it off,” He grinned.

Parker slapped his arm in congratulations. “See? Told you there was hope for you.”

“I…” Runner gave a skeptical grin, “Don’t remember you ever saying that.”

“Whatever, just tell me what you guys did.”

“Well, for one thing, she’s very quiet. I didn’t even hear her while she was hiding in my apartment.” Runner spoke candidly as if he didn’t care who else in the cafe heard him.

“I—, wha— huh?” Parker immediately became confused.

“We didn’t do much in the way of coffee,” Runner took another sip, his coffee reached his preferred drinking temperature. “She managed to sneak up on me, disarm me—“

“James, whoa, wait—“

“She broke one of my end tables, although I suppose that’s kinda my fault.”

“Stop, stop—“

“Luckily I still had my knife on me,” He continued, relishing the look of confusion on Parker’s face as she tried to determine if he was joking or not. “But man, she’s quiet. But I already mentioned that.”

Parker looked around the cafe, concerned. James spoke with an air of excitement, passion, almost as if he was a different animal.

“She tried to kill me with my own knife.” He continued, “But she changed her mind after I told her she should just do it and get it over with, maybe that killed the mood?”

Parker was no longer trying to interrupt.

“But after she left, she apparently fixed my car.” Runner was now grinning widely. “I think we’ll be going on a second date.” He took another long sip of the coffee.

“OK, OK, OK, whoa.”

“Right?!” He blurted out with an uncharacteristic enthusiasm. In truth, his entire explanation was done in a fashion that seemed extremely out-of-character, at least to Parker.

“No, no,” She hushed herself, seemingly now the one worried that other cafe-goers would hear. “She tried to _kill_ you?!”

“Mmhmm,” Runner said with his muzzle in the coffee mug. He downed his drink fully before speaking again. “Oh, but she didn’t mean it, she backed off when I tried to force her to kill me.”

“Dude… are you OK?” She asked in a low tone, “James, you’re acting really weird.”

James calmed himself, letting his shoulders fall and his face relax. He knew the way he was acting, and at first, it was to gauge a reaction from Parker, or so he thought. Now, he found an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Parker…” He put his paws together, his eyes became forlorn as he collected his thoughts. “I haven’t been OK. I haven’t been OK for a long time…”

Parker raised a brow and tilted her head, causing her ears to tilt over. She was worried, confused.

“Sorry,” He shook his head, somewhat regretting starting something he couldn’t back out of.

“Wow.” Parker said, looking around the cafe again. “You really picked the best place to drop that all on me huh? Isn’t it a little late to haze the new kid? I’ll admit that story had me going for a second.”

Runner grinned and stood up, tapping his phone on the table to pay the bill.

“Trust me,” he said, watching as Parker re-lidded her coffee and tapped her phone as well. “If I was the hazing type, I wouldn’t have done it in a cafe.”

As the two made their way outside, Runner felt different. The feeling of the sun on his fur, the warm summer breeze, and the familiar sounds of the city. All things that Runner normally would have ignored, now they offered a new layer of emotion, and it was apparent on his face.

“Are you sure you’re feeling OK?” Parker asked, still not quite sure how to handle the situation.

“You know,” Runner stopped walking and took in a breath. He felt the air fill his lungs as he took out his sunglasses and donned them. “I think I am going to be OK. The future is bright, kid.”


	4. Perfect Strangers, Stranger Spies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Edited by** : LotharHex, Jeinu, Hunter715, DrummerMax64
> 
> Thanks again to my editors and for DrummerMax finding all of my embarrassing occurrences of the word "hands". One day I'll stop using those silly human words.
> 
> Thought I would share a bit of music that I listen to while I try to get in the mood for writing Consecution, I run while I listen to it and think about what scenes I want to write so I very much consider it the theme song for Consecution. I'll post more music if readers show a liking for it. I don't own the music, nor do I have anything to do with its creation. Also, if you don't like my taste in music, ignore it. At least you still like my writing.
> 
> [Daria Danatelli - MARION](https://soundcloud.com/daria-danatelli/daria-danatelli-marion?in=tarienn/sets/alt-world)

“What have I done?”

“I killed _everyone_.”

"Everything that's happened is because of me."

…

“Do you want to know my name, Jack?”

…

“I don’t know what I fight for anymore… maybe… maybe I never did.”

 

* * *

 

> **_11 Years ago_ **

_Jack, you recall what's been on the news the last few weeks?_

Yeah, the active revolt in Viciounisia. They're fighting against the new regime installed last month.

_Correct. At least that's what the press has been telling everyone..._

Of course. What's the 'real' story, Commander?

_It's nothing more but rumors and speculation on our part, but we have some evidence that the Schevo Republic is inciting and even supplying the insurgents._

Aren't the Schevites behind everything nowadays?

_Heh, seems like it. That's the very reason why our unit exists._

Fighting the evils of the world?

_Something like that._

So, what's the plan? Go in and end the fighting?

_Hmm, not even you can pull a miracle like that. Take a look at this mammal._

I'm going in to assassinate a camel?

_Don't get ahead of yourself. His name is Ahim Reje Dromedi, he's one of the most powerful figures in the eastern hemisphere._

Doesn't sound that powerful, I've never heard of him.

_That's because he deals primarily in the black market. Illegal weapons, slaves, children, you name it._

So, what's the issue? Did ol' 'Reggie' get his hands on something he shouldn't have?

_I'm getting to that, but you catch on fast, Jack. We have intel that he's been able to procure a dangerous biological weapon. He's currently visiting Viciounisia to discuss some type of deal. Common sense tells us that he's there to try to sell it. Whether it's the Regime or the insurgence, we're guessing whoever pays more is the one who he'll sell to._

This is an awful lot of 'guessing' and 'speculation' to be basing an operation on.

_It is. But we can't ignore what's happening. We can't allow the Schevites or Ahim to cause instability in the region. We're sending you in to collect more information, find out why he's in Viciounisia, who he's intending to sell to... and if possible, find the weapon._

If I find the weapon... _when_ I find the weapon, what do I do with it?

_Huh, you are as cocky as they say. That's good, so long as your skills match up._

Guess you'll just have to see.

_Very well. When you find the weapon, assess the situation. If you can, secure it. If not, find a way to safely dispose of it. Considering that it's a biological weapon, that may not be an option. But we know very little about it, so it's hard to say until we actually find it._

When do we start?

_Now. You won't be given any weapons or equipment, we can't risk you being questioned at the security checkpoints. If you are captured or killed-in-action, our unit will be disbanded and the government of Zootopia will not acknowledge your actions or existence. It's quite literally do-or-die, Jack. In every sense of the term._

That _is_ what I signed up for. And I don't plan on dying today.

_You'll rendezvous with our contact when you get to the city, he'll give you more current intel on the immediate situation and a weapon._

Understood, Commander.

_Call me 'C', we'll be using code names from now on._

Got it, do I get to pick my code name?

_We've already got one picked out for you: 'Runner'. If your reputation isn't inflated, you run fast and hit hard._

Hmm, fine, makes sense.

_Any other questions, Runner?_

None.

_Good. Now get going, the airship is waiting. I'll lead up the support team from the Zootopian embassy in the city, contact us via radio as soon as you're at the rendezvous point._  

> _Thursday, May 20th, 20W4_
> 
> _Morning_
> 
> _City of Nabull, Desert Territory of Viciounisia_
> 
> _Three hours into Operation Cell Sand_

“C, this is Runner.”

“We read you, are you past the blockade?” C responded, her voice crisp and clear, despite the noise in the streets.

Runner had arrived in the large city of Nabull, and was wandering around in a crowded market. Mammals of all sizes were bustling in the maze of food and ware stands. It was hot, dusty, and loud. The few cars and trucks that drove through the markets had a difficult time navigating through the sea of mammals. It was chaos, and yet it was organized.

He came dressed in clothing that helped him blend in with the locals: loose-fitting tan pants and a shirt that helped conceal his sneaking suit. The fabric of the native garb was smooth, yet cheap feeling. On his head he wore an equally baggy shemagh; the loose-fitting fabric laid flat against his ears, keeping his face free from the dust and sun, as well as any onlookers. He cursed the heat, and with his long ears covered under a shemagh, his body was having difficulty dispersing his body heat. But he was on a mission. A mission to find and secure a deadly biological weapon.

“Affirmative, although now I’m here without any type of sidearm.” Runner said quietly. “Are you sure you can hear me? I can barely hear myself with all this noise.”

“Relax,” C responded, “the radio you’re wearing can pick up your whisper on a raging battlefield, don’t speak any louder than you have to. It’s tuned to isolate your voice, so we won’t hear anything else.”

“Copy. So glad I have communication at least.”

Runner did his best to navigate the busy sector, but he found himself moving slower than he’d like, even with his smaller size. Luckily, he found himself shaded by many of the larger animals in the crowd. The sun shone sharply down, focused, and the bright sandstone that dominated the architecture of the desert city only served to amplify it.

“Could you at least have given me a pair of sunglasses?” Runner complained, finding he had to shade his eyes with a paw every time he came into direct sunlight. “I feel like my eyes are going to burn out before this is over.”

“We had to send you in with minimal gear,” C assured. “Trust me, you’re there with as much equipment as was possible.”

“The sneaking suit is nice, breathes really well. Too bad the _parka_ you had me wear on top of it completely negates that fact.”

“Enough. We need you to get to our contact ASAP. Make your way through the markets and head east, our satellite feed shows an unexpected amount of mammals gathering on the main street. Stick to the alleys as much as possible.”

“A large gathering?” Runner questioned, confused, “I thought you said we were expecting light to no crowds around the rendezvous point.”

“The contact’s name is Ramej, he’s waiting for you in an abandoned hotel. Normally, there are very few mammals in the area this time of day, which is why he chose that area. Once you get there, look for a ram. He’ll pat his knees three times when he recognizes you, don’t approach him otherwise.”

“So, we’ll just need to use a bit more caution, got it.”

He managed to navigate his way to a nearby alley, the tall sandy buildings finally giving him some much needed shade. The alley seemed to be devoid of mammal traffic.

“Runner,” C chimed in again, “there’s no way Ramej can contact you until you meet him. Stay on your guard, we’ll keep watching the satellite feeds to determine the reason for the congregation.”

“Got it.” Runner confirmed.

He stuck to the shadows in the alleys, carefully and slowly making his way closer to the target. The streets seem to fill with more and more mammals as time passed. They seemed to be excited, waiting for something, or someone.

Finally, the abandoned hotel came into view, across the busy main street of the city. Strangely, Runner noted how no cars were driving on or near the street. And despite how many mammals gathered in anticipation, a single pathway was kept clear through the street. Enough to accommodate a reasonably sized car.

“C, the hotel is within sight.” Runner quietly confirmed, “But it looks like the gathering is… for some kinda parade. Like they’re waiting for a car to drive down the road.”

“Hmm, strange.” C hummed back. “Keep on your toes. Head north, looks like there’s an overhead walkway that will let you get across the street. Stay out of the open.”

Runner looked up the street, seeing the walkway C mentioned. It was mostly clear, save for a few mammals, all still watching intently, for… whatever was going to come down the road.

“I see it,” Runner confirmed. He said nothing more and started making his way towards it.

His small size came in handy; the inhabitants of Viciounisia mostly consisted of taller mammals like camels and horses, so he was able to easily conceal himself in the much taller crowd. Mammals like hyenas and wolves also seemed to dominate the population, and fortunately, they seemed to ignore Runner. The arid territory also seemed to have a scarce amount of tundran mammals, for obvious reasons.

Runner reached the staircase at the base of the walkway that arched over the main street. He ascended it, finding that few other mammals were using it to observe the street below. Odd.

He reached the top, it was completely unshaded, only offering a rickety chain-link fence to prevent pedestrians from falling. The hot, sunbaked concrete of the walkway burned against the fur of his feet. But he pushed on, navigating calmly through the few mammals that observed the commotion below.

Suddenly, a cheer, many cheers. Runner stopped midway along the lengthy skywalk to look down the street. Whatever entity the crowd was awaiting had arrived. Its timing was uncanny.

“C, looks like I’m about to find out why everyone’s gathered here. I’m going to use the commotion to slip into the hotel.”

“Negative,” C ordered, “Watch what’s coming. We may need to re-assess the situation. Whatever is coming is obviously drawing a lot of attention. It might even be something related to Ahim’s meeting.”

“Copy.” Runner confirmed as he took position on the bridge, bringing his paws up to the hot chain-link fence.

Runner observed, through the cheering crowd, a vehicle appearing from around a corner, then several vehicles. Multiple police motorcycles, lights flashing, and a black limousine. The limo was roofless, and within, a mammal stood and began waving. As this happened, the cheers grew ever louder. Despite the cheering, Runner could hear the hushed yet distinct calls of disapproval, boos, swearing, the like. It seemed that the group wasn’t unanimous in its welcome.

“C, seems to be an important mammal.” Runner said, “Possibly a political figure.”

“This is unexpected…” C said, “Your ring has a small camera, use it to send us a picture.”

He waited for the car to come closer so he could get a clear shot of the mammal. He came into view; Runner squinted to see against the blinding sun. The mammal appeared to be a tiger, dressed in a fancy white suit. The flags that waved in the wind had a peculiar design. Runner adjusted the ring on his finger and pointed it toward the oncoming vehicle. He clicked a button on it, sending a picture to C.

“Do you know who he is?” Runner asked after a few moments.

“Runner, that’s Uta Purrlem, the mayor of Cervograd, Viciounisia's northern neighboring territory,” C identified. “There’s no doubt about it, that's definitely him.”

“ _Purrlem?_ Why is he here?” Runner questioned, confused. The car slowly drew closer.

“I don’t know,” C admitted, “Our intel didn’t say anything about him visiting Viciounisia.”

“Do you think he’s here for the weapons deal with Reggie?” Runner speculated, “A black arms dealer and a foreign political figure visiting on the same day, that can’t be a coincidence.”

“It’s possible, but we don’t have time for guessing right now. We’ve identified the visitor, now get to the hotel. We need to make contact with Ramej.”

Runner made his way slowly to the other side of the walkway, the slow-moving car passing underneath. The other mammals he passed by rushed to follow it, a camel nearly trampling him as they rushed passed. Perhaps he was a bit _too_ inconspicuous.

But Runner was known for his keen attention. Even in the blazing sun, he was able to notice a slight detail: a speck of white in the city of sand, amidst the crowds of orange, brown and tan. Just as soon as the speck appeared, it vanished. His head twitched to face in its direction. He watched for a moment; the white appeared again, navigating its way through the merciless ocean of mammals. The white mammal wore a shemagh, similar to his own, so the face was obscured. Whatever it was, it was hindered by the taller mammals, but still hastily making its way toward the car carrying Purrlem. There was something stiff and awkward about the figure’s movements, their arms held down unreasonably straight, something held in their paws they took care to point at the ground as they made a beeline for the motorcade. He recognized the gait. They had a gun.

Runner didn't need to think twice. With his powerful legs, he leapt up and perched on the tall chain-link fence that lined the walkway. A mammal gasped from behind him, but he focused his sights on the suspected assassin. They had made their way to the barricade that separated the crowds from the road.

He wasn't the only to notice.

"She's got a gun!" A screech came from down below.

Panic. The crowds suddenly became more chaotic. Mammals who noticed struggled to get away, only to be blocked by those who were none the wiser. Only Runner was focused, his target sighted. He let his body tip forward. Falling, he lined himself up, then sprang from his perch, arcing himself at the white mammal.

He hit, catching the mammal in the midsection. They both flew back from the barricade, back into the crowd.

"Ngah!" His target shouted in surprise. The shout was undoubtedly female.

"Insurgents!" A shout came from somewhere in the crowd, followed by the all too familiar echo of gunfire.

The mammals in the crowd screamed, and Runner's target got to her feet as the crowd fled. Before she could run, he tackled her again. She let out a frustrated growl as the newly added weight slowed her down. She dug her claws into his back and lifted him with both paws. Runner found himself thrown, glass shattering around him. He entered an abandoned store front, complete with glass-covered counters, perfect for assorted pastries and the like.

He recovered his balance as he hit the floor; his ears stood upright, freed from the confines of his shemagh, which was lost in the chaos. He quickly stood up and took a fighting position. His quickness was rewarded, any slower and he would have been caught off-guard. He deftly moved his head away from the white fist that swung forward at him, and he grabbed onto his attacker’s wrist. As if dancing, he sidestepped closer to her and used an open palm to thrust upwards against her jaw. She choked in pain.

"You're fast," he almost tittered. The next dance move; he placed a leg behind hers and as he released her wrist, using the same paw, he shoved her in the chest. Her leg backed into his and, unable to continue, her center of gravity easily tipped, as if she was a flower petal carried by a slight breeze. Despite her elegant fall, she hit the dusty concrete harshly, the wind knocked out from her lungs. He stood above her, observing. "But I'm faster." He added. A shit-eating grin consumed his face.

The chaos outside continued, gunfire, screams. But in this moment Runner was focused only on one thing: his prey. Her shemagh had fallen, revealing a pure white vixen.

"But you're definitely the more beautiful of us." He said flirtatiously. This seemed to anger her, as she scowled and quickly pulled out a knife. She let out a fierce growl as she leapt to her feet, but Runner quickly hopped a few feet back to give her some space. He then put his paws behind his back, as if to taunt her.

She lunged at him, knife ready to strike. He stepped aside, causing the knife to miss. And thus their dance continued. The vixen's shining blade swung, and the hare it was intended for simply moved aside, as if knowing exactly where it was going to be. She made for a stab, Runner sidestepped, she slashed, Runner swerved his head. Their dance lasted in a blur, yet his paws never left his back unclasped.

The vixen's frustration grew wild; she pulled another pistol and fired, causing Runner to leap to the wall behind him, then to another nearby wall. The vixen struggled to keep track as she fired the pistol at nothing but air. The inertia from his jump allowed him to run along the wall for a time, and before he dropped to the floor, he lunged. She was too slow to react as he stepped forward, nudging her chest with his shoulder. Gripping the wrist of the paw that held the gun, then gripping the top of the gun with the other paw, he twisted. The gun left her paw seemingly without effort, as if she gave it willingly. He kicked with a powerful leg, sending her reeling back, but she kept her balance.

“You tried to assassinate a major political target…” he began, almost with a mocking tone. He drew back the slide of the pistol briskly, causing the bullet from the chamber to eject into the air, and the magazine fell from its well, clacking to the dusty floor. “With a _pistol?_ ”

The vixen again let out a cry of frustration as she swiped at him with the knife, this time nearly nicking the tip of his ear. He hopped a few feet away and turned around showing off his handy work on her weapon, which was now in two separate pieces.

“You should really learn to use a sniper rifle,” he said cockily. With the slide now removed from the frame of the gun, he tossed the two pieces in either direction. “Paw-to-paw combat doesn’t seem to be your forte either.”

She lunged forth once more, unwilling to give up, her knife ready to slash. Runner stepped forward as well, catching the arm that carried the knife. He stepped underneath her arm, twisting as he did so. With his other paw he pressed against the front of her shoulder. As if being guided, she was powerless to resist Runner’s lead to lay on the floor and give up. Their dance ended as she pathetically whimpered; she was once again on her back, her own knife pressed against her throat.

Runner observed her face, now that she was pacified. He raised a brow.

“You’re young,” he shook his head in disapproval, “Don’t throw your life away for this.”

There wasn’t much time to gloat further. Gunfire began peppering the building they occupied.

The white vixen took this as her opportunity; she knocked Runner’s paw away and scampered to her feet toward an open door that lead to the back of the shop. He chose not to follow, instead taking cover behind the nearby counter. Stray bullets continued to impact the wall above him.

She didn’t appear to speak his language. At least, that’s what he could assume, based on her only using frustrated shouts and yelps. He would get no further answers from her. He had prevented an assassination, but from the sounds of the warzone going on outside, it would appear that it was a trap. Insurgents that had blended in with the crowd were now fighting the military stationed in the area.

What good would it be chasing down a lonely insurgent? A wannabe assassin?

“Runner,” C interrupted his thoughts, “What are you doing!? The city’s lit up, you have to get _out of there._ ”

Runner quickly got to his feet and took to looking for his opportunity to escape down the street to the hotel. After all, what were the odds he would ever run into that vixen again?

— End transmission —

 

* * *

 

"Can you hear me? Are you in there?"

...

“Promise me that you’ll keep fighting... promise me…”

_A voice in the darkness, so far away. Yet so familiar._


	5. Strangers in a Perfect World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Edited by:** Jeinu, Lothar Hex, Hunter715
> 
> Storylines are starting to intersect! I need to point out that while I'm trying my best to avoid one story spoiling the plot of another, they all unfold independently. So if you keep up with all three, there is a possibility of something happening in one that messes with the surprise. Sometimes it's unavoidable since some are more caught up than others.
> 
> On a personal note, things are getting a lot busier for me this month than I expected. I will try to stick to my update schedule as best I can, but if my stories slip to less than one update a month, please don't be mad at me. (☞°3°)☞
> 
> Here's some music to go with this chapter, I listened to it as I wrote: [September 87 - Bad Dream Baby](https://soundcloud.com/dream-fiend/september-87-bad-dream-baby-dream-fiend-cut). Runner's been stuck in a long bad dream. He needs to wake up. But which is the fantasy? Jack? Or James?

"What have I done?"

"I killed _everyone_."

"Everything that's happened is because of me."

_Is that… my voice?_

…

“You can’t blame yourself for this.”

_But whose voice is this? So strange…_

"Do you want to know my name, Jack?"

…

"Can you hear me? Are you in there?"

“It’s OK, I’ll just keep you company until you wake up.”

_Like déjà vu. A distant voice in the darkness._

“Jack, please, wake up. You’re the only one I have left now…”

* * *

 

> **_Present Day_ **
> 
> _Saturday, May 2nd, 20X5_
> 
> _Early Morning_
> 
> _Gnu York, Savanna Central_

“Parker, do you think I’m… _cynical?_ ” Runner asked as he drove the car into the busy morning traffic. He adjusted his sunglasses, the sun glaring from the windshields of other cars on the road

“So, wait, wait, wait,” Parker said, trying to grasp how James was acting. She ignored his question, imposing her own to continue the strange topic, “This vixen breaks into your house and then tried to kill you? Who cares if you’re _cynical?_ ”

“I explained it twice, didn’t I?”

“Did she… does she know you or something?” She asked, still not quite sure whether to believe him or not. James wasn’t usually one to joke.“What on earth did you do to make her want to kill you? What happened? Are you hurt?”

Maybe he had said too much, now Parker was going to have questions for the rest of the day, Or worse, for the rest of the week. Strangely though, James didn’t seem to have the reluctance to hide his past that he usually did. Perhaps it was the adrenaline still left over from the struggle last night.

“She…” he started, trying to concentrate on the road while trying to determine how to word his explanation. Why had she tried to kill him? She had told him she waited for him. Waited for him to what? It was as if the answers should have been there, but when he reached out for them, nothing came. “She said she was waiting for me…”

Parker held her tongue for a moment, expecting James to continue. But that was it, that was his answer. “Waiting for you… to what? Keep explaining, dipshit!”

“I don’t know!” he replied honestly, “That’s all she said. She had a knife to my throat so I couldn’t _ask_ her.”

“She had a— for shit’s sake, dude!” She exclaimed, the severity of his experience setting in. Despite this, James seemed to be a bit too calm about the whole thing, “You’re a federal agent! We need to report this!”

Usually, it was James who would be trying to talk sense into his partner, telling her to follow protocol, or to remind her to zip up her fly. This was a uncanny reversal of roles.

“Hmm, maybe…” He shrugged noncommittally.

“If you aren’t going to report this, then I am.” She said sternly, pulling out her cell phone.

“Wait,” Runner sighed, signaling to pull over into an alleyway. One of the benefits of being in a smaller hare-sized car: it was easy to quickly maneuver in and out of traffic that mostly consisted of larger vehicles. “Put the phone down.”

“Like hell I am,” she spat back, putting the phone up to one of her tall ears. “Something’s up with you. You’ve been acting weird all morning and now you’re—“

“Put the phone _down_ , Parker.” He repeated bluntly as he put the car into park, a harsh expression on his face briefly flashed to his partner before it softened. “Please, we’ll talk, OK? I’ll tell you what you wanna know.”

“This is Grant.” The voice picked up on the other end. James was able to hear it.

Parker didn’t respond, instead, glancing over to James, trying to gauge his sincerity.

James tilted a brow and mouthed the words, “Hang up, please.”

“Hello? This is Grant.” The voice on the phone said again. “Parker? Is that you?”

Parker shook her head, “Uh— Parker here, sorry, false alarm, sir.” She hung up, sighing.

“OK, start talking.” She waved her paw in the air before crossing her arms.

Runner gripped the steering wheel before letting go, letting his paws fall to his pants. Was he really doing this? He had been running from his past for so long, maybe it was finally time.

James nodded a few times, then gave Parker a grin. He raised his paws in the air in defeat. “OK, you got me.”

Parker gave a confused yet frustrated look, “… OK? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means…” He paused, looking away, look around the car, just to make sure no one was around. “You were right. I’m a- _was_ a spy… and that fox that tried to kill me last night was a Schevite spy that saved my life a long time ago.”

James looked back at Parker, who was still soaking in what he said. Her eyes slowly grew larger as she realized he wasn’t joking.

“I don’t—“ He continued, chuckling out of the pure novelty of the situation. He was just as confused as Parker was. “I don’t know why she’s trying to _kill_ me now! She said something about me not being the animal I used to be.” He waved his paw in the air, his breath quickened, and he laughed, “But… I guess she’s right. _Look at me!_ I’m a… I used to be a spy, a Special Operations Agent, and now I work at a damn desk job for the DHTS. I have a bum arm and I’m so far in debt that I can’t even afford to pay my insurance! Some secret agent I turned out to be, huh?” James laughed pathetically.

He realized that Parker wasn’t responding, she just stared, mouth slightly open.

“Well, there you go.” James said. There it was, he said it. He had blurted out his top secret past to his twenty-something punk partner. “Like I told you: ‘you got me.’”

Parker stared for a moment longer, her eyes almost bulging out of her skull. If there was ever a look of pure incredulity, this was it.

James finally spoke, “Well, are you going to rub it in my face or—?”

“No.” Parker nearly shouted. “No!” She drummed harshly on the dashboard with her paws. “Are you _SHITTING ME?!_ ”

“Keep it down!” He hissed. But it was to no avail. “What in the hell—?!”

Parker briskly unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her door, hopping out of the car.

“Hey! What—!” James stammered, following her lead and getting out of the car. “ _Parker!_ ”

“Oh-my-god-oh-my-god.” Parker chanted, walking in front of the car, her ears were down, and her paws were on her head, as if to prevent her head from flying off of her body. “OH!” She shouted.

“Will you keep it down?!” James demanded between clenched teeth. “What are you doing?! Someone’s gonna hear—!”

“James, I _knew it_ . I just _knew it!_ .” She jumped up and down, reminiscent of an excited bunny child. “You _were_ a goddamn _SPY!_ ”

“Ergh!” He rushed up to her, grabbing her arms. “Will you please just—!”

“I kept telling you.” She shook her head, speaking in a strained whisper with difficulty keeping herself under control. “I kept _fucking_ telling you. You were a super spy…”

Though Parker was a rabbit, and James was a hare, she wasn’t much shorter than him. Parker was considered somewhat tall for a bunny, but this still meant that she only came up to James’ chin. This made it easy enough for him to hold her in place, despite the pain this caused his left arm. She hopped in place as he gripped her forearms, as if she was an energetic child.

“You lied to me.” She continued, somewhat quieter, but still ranting. “Well, I mean of course you’d _have_ to lie— not really something you’d be able to just tell anyone. I’m getting light headed…”

He let go of her. It was no use, she was riled up. What mess had he gotten himself into? He calmly walked over the hood of his car and sat down. Luckily, no one seemed to have come down the alley, and the sounds of traffic from the busy street likely prevented anyone else from hearing them. Still, what a mess.

Parker then calmed herself realizing that she should probably keep her voice down, her excited look of triumph on her face was finally replaced with an overwhelmed expression. She came and sat calmly next to James.

They sat in silence for a good moment. She was still tense and tapping her foot distractingly on the ground, though she stopped with some conscious effort in the stillness. The echoes of a busy city thrummed through the empty alley.

“So, now what do we do?” She spoke softly. “Do you need to kill me now that you told me?”

James thought for a moment. What were they going to do? Would he have to kill Parker? He laughed. As much as he loved entertaining the thought, he knew what they would have to do.

“First of all, we’re going to get back in the car.” James said, patting Parker on the shoulder.

“Yep, sounds like a plan.” Parker said, still dazed by what had just transpired. She stood up from the hood of the car. “Just want you to know, if you need to kill me— No hard feelings?”

* * *

 

> _Morning_
> 
> _Suncrest View, Parker’s Apartment_

“So, what happened?”

“Happened?” James asked, confused, “With what?”

“With you being a spy. How do you… _end_ that kind of career? Did you retire?”

James shrugged, “What a great retirement, right? Pretending I’m just some cynical hare trying to pay off his debts, living from paycheck to paycheck.”

“Yes… _pretending_ ,” She teased.

Parker had finally let what James had said earlier to soak in. She relaxed on her sofa in her messy apartment while James watched the traffic below from her living room window. The two were waiting for tentative information on their next assignment. A typical Saturday morning. Sometimes, a call from their director would come, either information on some special case they would be handling during the week, or, if they were unlucky, some emergency assignment that would disrupt the rest of their weekend.

Parker was a messy bunny, and in support of her lazy appearance, her apartment displayed the same habits. It wasn’t too bad, a few dirty dishes here and there, takeout boxes on her coffee table, random jackets and undershirts strewn about. James didn’t agree with her lifestyle, he was a clean hare, and despite his budget, he found ways to dress and live up to his high tastes. Sometimes, thrift stores were a necessary part.

“Well, shit, dude.” She huffed, “Why the hell _aren’t_ you living well-off right now? Shouldn’t you be seen as a hero?”

James tittered at that, “I was a spy, not a war hero. If a spy does his job right, he would save the world and no one would ever know he existed.”

“And didn’t you?” Parker insisted, “Didn’t you ‘save the world?’”

James didn’t want to answer that. For everything he had revealed and would reveal to her, this wasn’t going to be one of them. “You’re taking this a lot differently than I expected.” He deflected.

“Dude, you kinda just _dumped_ it on me in the middle of a busy coffee shop.” Parker reminded, “How did you expect me to handle it?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “You were digging up my past anyway, weren’t you?” He finally disengaged himself from the window, coming over to Parker and sitting in the arm chair next to the sofa. “What were you going to do when you found out?”

Parker sat up from her lazy sofa position, “You really think I would’ve found that out on my own?”

“You found that old picture of me and my commander… my old unit.”

Parker shook her head, snickering. “That… that really was your commander… how do I know you’re not just making all this up to humor me?”

“I’ll let you decide that.” He replied, giving her a snide grin. He gently kicked an empty beer can that lay on the floor, rolling it over to Parker.

Parker sat and watched as the beer can came to a stop in front of the sofa. She picked it up. “Yeah, yeah. I need to clean this place up.” She tossed the can behind her, the sound of it clanking around the lid of her trash bin, it bounced and landed on the floor. “Hmph.” She chuckled, realizing that she missed.

“So?” James stood, walking over to the dented beer can. “What are you going to do now that you know?” He dropped the can into the bin, then put his paws in his pockets. He was restless, a subtle adrenaline coursed through him. But why?

“That’s a good question… It’s not everyday you find out someone you’ve known for years is a super spy—”

“Special ops.” He corrected.

“Huh?”

“My quote unquote official title was Special Operations Agent. It’s nothing like what it is in the movies.”

“OK, first question, Spec Ops dude. Why spill all this now? After so long—?” Parker’s phone started to ring. It vibrated against the wood of her cluttered coffee table. She groaned deeply. “Ugh, there’s our call. I swear that dick waits to call until the most inconvenient time.” She picked it up and checked the name.

“Grant?” James asked, knowing the answer.

Parker sat back into the couch, “You know it.” She answered it. “Sup.”

“Parker.” The voice spoke on the other end, James’ long hare ears were able to hear it clearly. “McRuffage with you?”

“Yep, James is here.” She confirmed. She motioned for him to come closer in order to hear, but there was no need.

“Good, good.” James listened in as he paced around the back of the sofa. “Listen, something’s come up. The task force assigned to the Rubrum case is a little shorthanded, they’ve asked for some assistance.”

Parker sat up, “Sir? You… you want us on the _Rubrum_ investigation?”

“Someone from high up has asked for you and McRuffage specifically, seeing as how you both handled the initial investigation last year.”

“Who would ask for us?” Parker asked, giving James a look of confusion. She knew that he was listening in.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have said ‘someone,’” came the response. “I’ll email you both the details of the lead. I need you to fly out to Ibexas as soon as possible. Preferably before tomorrow.”

“Ibexas… can I ask why?” Parker asked, knowing what Grant’s response would be.

“Like I said, the details will follow.” Grant replied. “Any other questions, Parker?”

Parker sighed, “How long should I plan for?”

“No more than two days. If this lead turns out like I think it will, I don’t think you’ll find anything new. I’m sorry to interrupt your weekend over this, but it’s out of my hands.”

“All part of the job, I guess.” She said.

So much for the intact weekend.

“That’s the truth. Good luck to both of you.” Grant hung up.

Parker tossed the phone onto the couch cushions. “Catch all that?”

“Mmhmm,” James nodded, looking at his own phone.

“On the plus side,” Parker stood up, and stretched. “Plenty of time for some spy stories. It’s gonna be a long trip.”

“On the plane? With all those mammals listening?” He laughed, “Guess again.”

“When we get to Ibexas then. You think you can just blurt out that you’re a spy and you think that’s the end of it?”

“Why can’t it be?” he teased, wanting her to pry further. It was odd, he found it… therapeutic to finally be able to talk about his past so casually.

“Nuh-uh,” she laughed incredulously, “No way. I want to know everything. And on top of that, I wanna know why you suddenly thought it wasn’t worth hiding anymore.”

What were the consequences of telling her? He had definitely violated his agreement to territorial security. But maybe he didn’t care anymore. The life he had been living had been subtly suffocating him for so long, that maybe this marked the return of the old Jack. The run in from the previous night had changed him… in ways he didn’t quite understand. Regardless, he now felt free, unburdened, and unchained.

But many questions remained; was it too late to return to his old life? Had his skills really atrophied over the years? And why? _Why_ did he feel this way? This feeling of an almost violent malaise drove him forward.

These questions remained unanswered, but still, he found courage that he had not had in these six long years. What had this mysterious vixen done to him? Or a better question: What had he done to himself that she had saved him from?

James grinned, and silently picked up his black overcoat, which he had laid on the armrest of the sofa, and put it on.

“I have questions, Mr. Super spy” She said insistently, poking him hard on the chest.

James humphed, “Don’t we all.”

* * *

 

> _Evening_
> 
> _Southwind Airways, Flight 186_
> 
> _En route to Pawstin, Ibexas_

“So the Rubrum is still in Zootopia?”

“Will you keep it down?” James scolded, grumbling, finding himself once again reminding Parker not to casually discuss matters of territory security with so many other mammals around. “Can’t we talk about something else until we get some privacy?”

“Yeah, great.” She scoffed defiantly, “Let’s just talk about that _other_ thing then.”

“Do we need to talk at all?”

The two were flying small mammal first class, all expenses paid by the DHTS. Another benefit of a government job. And while the first class section of the airship was full of all kinds of animals, there was enough background noise and conversations happening to allow for some private conversing. But then again, you never know who has better ears than yourself.

“Talkative all morning,” Parker crossed her arms and lifted a leg up, showing off her brown tipped foot. “Now all of sudden you decide you don’t want to talk.”

James rubbed his eyelids, groaning quietly. “Fine, you wanna talk about something? How about we talk about how you’re dressed?”

Parker made a scowl, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

James looked her over, as if that would prompt her to answer her own question. “…You’re wearing pajamas.”

Parker padded her paws on her legs. “Yeah? So what? Maybe I didn’t want to ride a seven-hour flight in a goddamn pressed _suit_.” She motioned towards his attire.

It was true, he wore a black suit. Ironed, and expensive looking. It was well fitted to him, despite its origins being from a thrift store. It was uncanny what James could do with his tight budget, especially when it came to his fashion. It was all topped with a vest, over a striped white dress shirt. Being a federal agent, he was allowed to board the flight armed with his usual knife and taser, which were holstered beneath his vest.

“No wonder you’re so uptight all the time.” She said, almost venomously. “That suit is probably cutting off the blood flow to your stupid hare brain.”

James took the insult in stride, he knew how to fight back. He smiled, then straightened his vest, sitting in a more relaxed pose in his fluffy first class chair. “I dress to impress, darling. And it goes without saying; I’m always impressive.” He lifted an eyebrow, giving a snarky grin.

This was a side of himself that he rarely showed to Parker. A remnant attitude that had almost died when he lost his pride so long ago.

Parker watched him for a moment, unsure whether she wanted to laugh or feel turned on. She chose laughter, smacking his chest with the back of her paw. “Haha, dude! ‘Darling?’ Seriously? What are you, James _Bun_?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He sat back in his chair. Despite his clothing being nowhere near as relaxed as Parker’s, he still found himself with the ability to be comfortable no matter how well he was dressed. “And what’s wrong with ‘darling’? I used to call you that when we were dating.”

Parker snickered again, “ _Dating?_ Please. That’s what you call the two dates we went on?”

James found himself in thought for a moment. When he started living his… normal life, he found himself having difficulty adjusting. Shopping at a grocery store for his own groceries was one thing, but he found the mysterious world of dating a different monster entirely.

“Huh. Was it really that bad?” He asked, starting to feel insecure. “I’m pretty sure I took on you on more than one date.”

“Are you serious?” She tilted a brow, “We went on _exactly_ two dates, then you started avoiding me at the office and stopped returning my calls.”

“I… don’t contest that.” He admitted, nodding thoughtfully.

“Dude, and when we needed to work on an assignment together, you acted super nervous around me.” She snickered again, despite her punk nature, she allowed her tender side to show now and then. “I thought it was cute, but it’s seriously hard being in a relationship when the other guy who’s, what, twenty years older than me—?“

“ _Twenty—?!_ ”

“ _And_ who still acts like they’re in high school.” She recalled, almost fondly. Although James was starting to look hurt, despite him trying to keep a stoic facade. She patted him on the shoulder with the back of her paw. “The worst part about us dating wasn’t that you were older. And I could get over how secretive you were about everything. But you just seemed scared, y’know? I don’t know if you were scared of me, or dating, or whatever, it was just a big turn off. Sorry guy. You’re more mature than I am, but in some ways, you still kinda seem… _inexperienced?_ ” Normally, she would search for the harshest word to use, but not this time. “It was like you were dating for the first time.” She thought for a moment while James seemed to contemplate that statement. “I guess… I guess that all kinda makes sense now, huh…”

James made an expression of agreement. “Funny, isn’t it.”

* * *

 

> _Late Night_
> 
> _Hotel Granduiker, Pawstin, Ibexas_

The knife glinted. The dimly lit bedside lamp reflecting from it as he rotated it in his paws. The pointed edge pivoted against his finger as he turned the handle with the other paw. He sat on the edge of his bed, contemplating the blade. He had finally removed his vest; it was hung neatly in the closet of his hotel room, ready for tomorrow. His holster was still donned.

Runner studied the sharp weapon for a moment longer. He closed his eyes, listening to the subtle sounds of the building. The sounds of other mammals in the hotel barely penetrating the walls of his small hare-sized luxury hotel room. All complements of the DHTS.

He gently opened his eyes, then sharply stood up from the bed, his knife ready to strike. He slashed through the air in quick succession, fighting some imaginary enemy. Spinning himself to face the other direction he quickly threw the knife, the butt of which dented the wall, missing its target: a printed-out infrared photograph of a vixen. Attached to the wall with a thumbtack.

Runner stood from his combat position, pulling his taser pistol from its holster on the side of his chest. He held it in both paws, pointed toward the floor. He raised it, aiming at a random spot in the room, then quickly returning his arms and aim to the[ low ready](http://www.wideopenspaces.com/pistol-ready-positions/) position. He aimed again, turning his back to the picture, then returned to low ready.

He spun once more, taking only a split second to aim at the photo, then firing. The pistol’s rail kicked back and a small spark emitted from the chamber. The shot was quiet, emitting only a short clicking noise. It hit the target.

Grinning to himself, he walked over to check his handy work.

His grin faded as his newly returned ego faltered. He had hit the edge of the picture. The ball from the gun had latched itself to the lower corner. It had hit the target, but only barely. The ball was clicking, signifying that it was still pulsing its electric charge.

“Ergh,” he grumbled to himself, returning his pistol into its holster. “Guess I’m a little rusty…”

A knock on his door came, he shook his head before deciding to walk over to answer.

“Sup.” Parker said as the door opened.

“What do you want?” James said, almost irritated at the interruption.

“Whoa, bad mood?” Parker pulled her paws from her pajama pockets and put them up. “Sheesh, sorry to bug you, ya grumpy shit.” She turned to walk back to her own room.

“Wait,” James said, opening the door fully. “Sorry, I just… I was in the middle of something.”

“Oh, yeah?” She said, cautiously stepping into the room. “Let me guess,” She looked around the room for clues, “Some secret spy practice shit—?” Before the question fully left her mouth, she had her answer. A combat knife lay on the floor, a picture hung from the wall, a fresh taser pellet lodged into the corner of it.

“I— uh,” embarrassed, James quickly moved to pick up the knife, sheathed it, and pulled the picture off the wall. The taser pellet had luckily lost its charge. “I was—“

“Hey, wait a minute.” Parker walked toward James, “Let me see that, is that…?”

“Is that what?” He feigned ignorance, trying to shove the large picture in his pants pocket.

“Dude, let me see.” Parker reached for it, trying to pull it from his pocket.

“Hey!” He protested, trying to keep her away, “Paws off!”

She took a step back, pretending to be threatened. “Oh, that’s right. You’re a big spy now, you gonna use some judo on me and knock me out?”

“Tempting,” he grinned, “but my techniques are a little… rough.”

“Rough as in; ‘super deadly’? Or rough as in ‘rough around the edges?’” She shook her head, laughing.

He crossed his arms, “Rough as in: they’re techniques meant to take down mammals ten times larger than me.” He boasted.

“Whoa, OK, Agent Harebrain.” She mocked, taking another step back. “Let’s take it easy.”

“But I’ve gotten a little rusty over the years.” He admitted, shaking his head. Walking toward the closet, he removed his weapon holster and hung it next to his vest. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“That picture…” She continued. “Let me see it.”

James turned, giving her a grin. “No,” he said cheerily as he walked around her to the bed.

“It’s the vixen, isn’t it?”

James didn’t respond, but he sat down on the bed, taking the photo from his pocket. His eyes lingered on it for a moment.

Parker held out a brown-tipped paw. Her fur, for the most part, was a pure white, with only her muzzle, the tips of her ears and paws ending in a light brown. The brown features of her fur made all the more apparent by the glow of the bed side lamp. She still wore the same pajamas she wore on the airship.

“C’mon, I’m not going to laugh at you.” She pushed.

He sighed, then handed it over. She had already seen it anyway…

She looked it over for a moment, before furrowing her brow. “Is this… infrared? And what is she doing?”

James felt the ring around his finger, rotating it a few times with his thumb.

“I took a picture of her, while she had the knife to my throat.” He huffed, realizing how ridiculous it sounded out loud. “It’s infrared because it was pitch dark in my apartment. If you didn’t believe me before, there’s your proof.”

“Jee. Zus.” She said, her mouth agape. “How did you—? Does your phone have an infrared— Dude, this is some spy tech shit!”

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

“Where’s the camera? In your eye?” She walked forward, pulling at his ear, looking into it.

“Ow! Hey!” he complained, “What are you—“

She quickly put a paw on his mouth, trying to open it to look inside.

“Ach! Knock it off!” He swatted her paws away. “Look, it’s this right here.” He showed her his ringed finger.

“Whoa,” She observed it, mesmerized by how ordinary it looked. It was black, and it’s curvature was smooth and flat throughout, “Dude, really?”

“Alright, you’ve seen it enough. Hand it over.” He held out his paw, gesturing for the photo.

“Tch, yeah whatever,” she handed the picture back. “That’s not creepy or anything.”

James didn’t say anything to that, letting his gaze linger on the photo before tossing it onto the bed behind him.

“Dude, when do I get tech like that?” She walked over to a small dining table and sat down at one of the two chairs. The other chair was larger, to accommodate a larger sized guest.

“When you grow up.”

“Yeah, first time I’ve heard that one,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So… I think we’ve had a long day. I finally found out your long lost secret.”

“Yes, and?” He asked, knowing full well what she had come to ask him.

“Story time, bitch.”

“Of course.” He laughed, “That mouth of yours is going to get you into some hot water sooner or later.”

“Hmm, I don’t disagree with you,” she shrugged. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He scoffed, “You want me to just summarize my entire life for you?”

“You know it. But first off, I need to ask. Why drop all the secrecy now?”

He thought for a moment, what was the answer to that question?

“I mean,” she continued, “These four years I’ve known you—“

“ _Three_ years.” He corrected, raising a brow.

“Ugh, whatever. _Three_ years. No matter what little I’ve been able to dig up about you, you’ve always denied it.”

“Right, and you never believed me when I told you that you were eating carrots in the wrong tree.”

“Actually… after all this time, I was actually starting to believe— wait… eating carrots in a what?”

“Eating carrots in a…” He paused before waving a paw, “Ugh, it’s a saying.”

She narrowed her eyes, “Dang dude, you really are old.”

“How does that phrase put— look, do you want me to answer your question or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, whatever. Go on.”

James rubbed his temple, this was going to be a long night. He took in a breath before speaking.

“That vixen…” he started, still pondering his answer.

Parker quickly crossed her legs on the chair, as if she were a small child excited for their bedtime story. She impatiently waited for him to finish his sentence.

“When I saw her in the lobby, and when she was holding the knife to my throat…” He continued to struggle to articulate, “Parker, you know the feeling of déjà vu?”

“Uh _huh?_ ” She tilted her head, “It’s just a random misfire of synapses in your brain, doesn’t _mean_ anything, dude.”

“I know, I know. But that _feeling_.”

“OK, what about it?” She was getting confused.

“All day, and last night after she left, when I think about her, I feel like there’s… something missing.” He explained slowly, yet he felt he was still failing to convey what he was feeling. “It’s strange. Like a memory that’s not quite there.”

Parker tilted her head a bit, not quite sure how to interpret what he was saying. “When you two met in the lobby, she acted like she recognized you.”

“Yeah, we met before.” He nodded. “She saved my life. It was during my final mission-- _failed_ mission.”

Parker didn’t speak, just calmly waited for him to speak more, she leaned forward in her cross legged position.

“I trust you, Parker.” He looked at her sternly, “What I say now doesn’t leave this room.”

Her mouth was hanging slightly open in anticipation, she swallowed. “Y-yeah, of course.” She nodded. “I promise. You know you can tell me anything.”

He gauged her sincerity, and after finding it satisfactory, he slowly started unbuttoning his shirt. “I was shot. My left shoulder.” He stood from the bed undoing his suspenders, then removed his shirt. His shoulders were lined with black stripes against his white fur, all for a single spot. “Look.”

Parker got up from her chair, eagerly wanting to see the scar. She approached him as he moved the short fur aside from his bullet wound. It was beside a black stripe of fur, showing the fur-less scar. His skin was pale, the scar was irregularly shaped like the skin around his shoulder had exploded and needed to be stitched, or grafted. The skin that was there was thin against his bone. She could see as the skin slid, the solid shape of the bone clearly visible underneath. The bone itself seemed damaged.

“Dude,” she gasped at the scar, “That’s gross.”

“She shot me…” he explained, “She shot me with a sniper rifle.”

“The vixen?” Her eyes grew wide, she reached out to touch it, but pulled her paw away deciding not to.

James nodded.

“But you said she saved your life?”

James took another breath. “My mission was supposed to be simple. Sneak into a secret Schevo weapons research base, get photographs of what they were building, and return home.”

“So then…” She spoke, still fixated by the scar, “The vixen was a Schevite?”

James nodded again.

“And then she caught you and did this?”

“No.” James said, “Then…” he turned slowly turned around, showing Parker his back. “Then _they_ caught me and tortured me.”

Parker’s paws covered her gaping mouth, she stood back. “Augh,” she said, horrified. “Ugh, damn, dude…”

His back was covered in scars, fur was missing in streaks, some missing patches even extended along the back of his arms. The scars varied wildly, as if he had been whipped, stabbed, slashed, burned, electrocuted… or worse.

“Oh, shit…” Parker said, feeling nauseous. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry… I never knew.”

James turned, seeing how Parker was reacting, and picked up his shirt, deciding that was enough. “Sorry,” he said, buttoning up his shirt quickly, “I should’ve told you what you’d see before I showed you.”

“N-no…” she said, backing up to sit back in her chair. “It’s OK, I’ll be fine. James, that’s fuckin’ awful. Aw, man… H-how did you escape?”

James finished redressing, deciding to leave his suspenders off, then walked over to the dresser. “Like I said; ‘she shot me’” he grinned.

Parker gave a confused look, waiting for the explanation.

“The mammal who tortured me, he was a camel named Ahim Reje Dromedi. His codename was Black Viper— don’t try to figure out what it means,” He shrugged, “I never did, I just called him Reggie. Anyway, this camel had a thing for torture, like it got him off or something. I’d been held captive for the better part of a week, and he would have me dragged in for torture several times a day.”

“Why the hell was he torturing you so long?” Parker asked incredulously, “Was he trying to get information out of you?”

James shrugged, “I didn’t know the answer to his questions. I guess that’s why he tortured me for so long. They could’ve just killed me, but they thought I had something they wanted. But then the day finally came. I woke up that morning, and my cell door was open.”

He stood up from his leaning position, giving a stretch and a yawn before he continued, his ears fell behind him as he relaxed.

“My sneaking suit was on the floor, and my weapons.” He continued, leaning back onto the dresser.

“Was it her? The vixen?”

“I’m not sure, I didn’t see who did it but it’s possible. With what energy I had, I put on my sneaking suit and gathered my gear. If I was going anywhere, I’d need the protection of my suit. The base was located high in the Polminy Mountains.”

“Polminy?” Parker asked, “Wait, that’s almost near Central Schevo.”

“Yep.”

“Dude, you weren’t just _behind_ enemy lines, you were practically in bed with them!”

“I guess you could say that,” he agreed, tittering.

“A-anyway, sorry, go on.”

“The prison was fully guarded, no one could have gotten to my cell without the guards finding them. So it was probably a Schevite soldier, or someone dressed like one. In either case, I managed to make it to the launch bay of the weapon, my gear included some explosives and luckily—“

“W-w-wait! What?” Parker interrupted, something wasn’t right. “You didn’t escape? You snuck further _in?!_ W-what the hell is wrong with you?”

James paused for a moment, before continuing, “The weapon relied on a large nuclear-based particle exciter. I rigged it to explode.”

“A nuclear… What the hell kind of weapon were they working on?”

“I don’t know, but I knew it had to be destroyed.” He explained “It was launching that day.”

“Wait,” Parker had more questions “The same day it was going to launch, is the day you woke up to your cell being open?”

“Yes. That’s how I know, whoever released me wanted me to stop them.”

Parker was shaking, the story she was hearing was getting her adrenaline pumping. James noticed this as the tips of her ears quivered occasionally.

“I set the explosives for remote detonation so I could try to escape,” he raised his paw, once again showing Parker his ring, “But this ring also functions as a biometric scanner. If I died in my attempt, the base would light up immediately.”

“So… I take it you escaped, then?” Parker grinned, the excitement taking ahold of her.

“Almost.”

Parkers ears drooped, as her grin faded.

“Reggie was waiting for me.” He continued, “Him and several soldiers ambushed me as I got to the light vehicle garage of the base. He challenged me, said if I could best him paw-to-hoof combat, I would be free to go. I guess he didn’t know I rigged those explosives.”

“Did you… Did you accept?”

“I had no other choice. I dropped my weapons and readied myself for the worst.”

“I thought you said you know some kind of judo that could drop mammals ten times bigger than you?”

“I… I was in no shape to fight. They had barely fed me anything for a week, only giving me enough to keep me alive. The only water they gave me was the water they tried to drown me with.”

Parker stayed quiet, not knowing what to say to that.

“I tried to fight him, but he was too much.” He went on, “He grabbed me by the throat and picked me up, said he wanted to watch the life drain out of me until I was barely alive, then revive me and start the torture all over again. For some reason, he just wouldn’t let me die.”

Parker made an audible gulp.

“Then it happened, she fired. I don’t know where she was, I didn’t even hear the gunshot. All I knew was that something had exploded into my shoulder and blood started spraying out. Reggie dropped me, ordering his men to take cover and find the sniper. Reggie truly thought I had the information he wanted, and that the only mammals who wanted to kill me were…”

“Us… Zootopia.” Parker answered. “So you wouldn’t be able to leak the information.”

“Yes.” James nodded. “Reggie told his men to sacrifice themselves to keep me alive if necessary. Whatever information he thought I had, it was enough to keep me alive.”

“But you were laying there bleeding, weren’t you?”

“I don’t remember how long it took, it seemed like an eternity. The Schevite soldiers eventually rushed to me and put me on a stretcher. They drove me to the infirmary on the other side of the base while Reggie and the rest of them looked for the sniper.”

“Did they find her?”

“She had followed the car they took me in, she shot them all from afar. Then I escaped. I ran… or limped as far as I could, until I collapsed from exhaustion. Then she found me, and rescued me.”

“Why?” Parker asked, “Why was she doing all this?”

“There’s another question I can’t answer.”

“So that’s why you gave up that life,” Parker nodded in understanding, “They tortured you, and you ended up nearly dying.”

“My story isn’t over.” James said, not quite wanting to go into the next part. But he had already come this far, he might as well go all the way. “That’s not why I left my unit.”

“What the hell else could it possibly be? That would’ve broken any normal animal by now.” She shivered more, realizing that he would be revealing even more. She had learned more about James in the past hour than she ever had in the years that she had known him.

“Are you familiar with the Baroqa Komsomol?” He asked, his voice was faltering, but he tried to stabilize it.

“The Baroqa?” She thought for a moment, “Oh, that massive Schevite airship!”

“It wasn’t just massive, it was the largest airship ever built. The largest object to ever become airborne.”

“That thing crashed when I was a teenager, so I don’t know much about it.” She shrugged, wondering where he was going with this.

“Yes, it crashed into a city. Cervograd.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. All these years, running, regretting. It was time to tell someone his darkest secret.

“I remember from the news at the time. The Komsomol’s… what did you call it? The Nuclear Particle Exciter fractured, it sent plumes of excited radiation all over the city. Some parts are still burning even now…” She shook her head, “Particle exciters… Goddamned nightmare fuel…”

Truer words were never spoken, they resonated with James in a way that Parker couldn’t realize. He stood from his leaning position, and looked at his paws, closing his fingers, opening them. He was centering himself. Was this real? Was he really going to just let it all out?

“Everyone that died that day, everyone that lost their homes, their lives.” He braced himself, looking away from Parker. “It was because of me…”

“W-what?” Parker almost yelled, “ _How?_ ”

“Parker, the day the Komsomol crashed. The day I destroyed that particle exciter weapon in Polminy. They happened on the same day.”

“That…” Parker stood up from her chair, walking over to him, but he wouldn’t look at her. “That’s just a coincidence! They can’t be connected, that’s impossible! The Komsomol crashed because of some crap maintenance issue with it’s E-Hydrogen cells.”

“That’s the _official_ story. The Schevites had been trying to build a large scale particle exciter that would be on par with the Conifer for decades. And they succeeded, except they did so in secret. They achieved long range environmental control in the eastern hemisphere and kept the whole thing a _secret!_ Even our other spy networks had no idea of its existence.”

“OK, so the Schevites made a copy of the Conifer. Whatever. How does that—“

“The base I destroyed, the reactor I rigged to explode. That _was_ their version of the Conifer. It was some… massive weaponized version of it. Underground.” Finally, he turned to face her. “The Komsomol was kept in the air by a massive compression field that it produced. It crashed because I destroyed it… When the reactor was destroyed, the particle exciter failed.”

Parker saw the emotion in his eyes, he was serious. “Oh my god… fuuuck.”

“Seven. _hundred. thousand._ mammals. The thousands that were aboard the Komsomol.” He put his paws on the side of his head, he was getting lightheaded. The words just came, despite all these years of hiding it. He wanted to tell Parker, but emotions were assaulting him. “All _dead_ , because of me, because I couldn’t figure out a solution, because I got captured and didn’t want to die. _Millions_ more than that were irradiated, their homes lost or worse. All those lives destroyed by _me_. The lone idiot who thought he could save the world.”

Parker was at a loss, she wasn’t expecting his story would end this way. What could she say? Could she comfort him? _Should_ she?

“Didn’t you do what you had to?” She asked carefully.

“At the time, I thought I was. They were preparing to fire some kind of excited warhead that could pierce through Conifer’s barrier. They could’ve destroyed any city they wanted.”

“So you’re a damn _hero_.” She insisted, “It was either us or them!”

“It didn’t have to be either.” His voice was raising.

“How could you know that?!” Her voice was strained, trying to remain measured.

“I… I made a mistake-- Hah, I didn’t just make a mistake,” He said forlornly. He was losing himself to the memory, to the downward spiral, despite his efforts to resist, “Parker… _I was_ a mistake. I never should’ve--”

“James, goddamnit. Listen to me!” She snapped, her voice overpowering his. “You did your best, you made a decision that I don’t think anyone else could have made. You’re pathetic, you can’t just feel sorry for yourself the rest of your life! You saved lives not only in Zootopia. You probably ended the damn War of Fear, James. Jesus fucking Christ, you are not a mistake… I _know_ you’re not a mistake.”

“And what exactly _DO_ you know…?!” He retorted bitterly, he stepped forward aggressively, causing Parker to back away, almost tripping over the carpet.  “What makes you think I haven’t told myself **all** of this already?” His voice raised, his throat was widening, a typical stress response for hares, and it hurt. “I’ve lived the past **six years** of my life thinking that everything that I was… that all I am is a **lie** . I’m not some hero that can save the world. I didn’t help the world that day, maybe I never did. Maybe all I _ever_ did was more harm than good. I owe a debt to the world so large that I could live forever and never pay it back. So don’t come in here thinking that you have the right to say those things… You have _no idea what it’s like!_ ”

And just like that, Parker regretted everything she said. And shortly after, James felt the sting of regret as well. Why did he say that? Nothing she said was meant to hurt him, so why then? It was as if something from deep within had spoken for him. A terrible darkness that dwelled inside, hiding, waiting for the opportunity to consume. But it was no use, there was no blaming anyone else. The words had been said, coming from his own mouth. So there they were, sitting quietly, letting play the silent melody of remorse.

“I—!” They both spoke at once, before awkwardly returning to silence.

Parker cleared her throat and walked around him to move toward the door.

“Parker…” He spoke, watching her brown-tipped feet slowly walk across the carpet. “Parker, I… I didn’t…” He stood up from the bed, guilty, and ashamed.

“You’re right,” She stopped walking, though she didn’t turn to face him, “I don’t know what it’s like. Or what you went through.”

The two stood in another silence, both pondering on what should be said. Until finally, Parker pivoted in her stance to look at him directly.

“Your real name, it’s Jack... Isn’t it. Jack Savage?” She said, gauging his reaction.

 _Jack Savage_ … it was a name he hadn’t heard anyone else say in a long time. Almost an eternity. Parker’s voice, saying the name Jack Savage, reverberating in his mind. He had said the name to himself many, many times, so as to not forget who he once was. But through this routine, it had lost its weight over the years. How did Parker know? Perhaps she had found out more on her own than she had let on.

“It’s not your fault, _Jack_.” She continued, “I believe that with every fuckin’ hair on my sorry hide. This girl that tried to kill you?” She motioned to the picture he held in his paw, which he had subconsciously picked back up at some point during his story. “I think she believes it too, and maybe if you run into her again, she should knock some sense into your idiot hare brain.” She turned, walked towards the door and opened it, but paused once again. She chuckled, looking back to him. “But ‘what do I know’… right? G’night, dude.”

She patted the door with her paw before turning around, walking back to her own room.

* * *

“Can you hear me? Are you in there?”

_That voice again…_

…

“What’s your name, Runner? Your _real_ name?”

…

“Hm? Jack? That’s a rather handsome name… I like it. Runner’s true name is Jack.”

…

“Do you want to know my name, Jack?”

_Could it be…?_

…

“My name…”

“…is Skye.”

* * *

 

> **_The Next Day_ **
> 
> _Sunday, May 3rd, 20X5_
> 
> _Early morning_
> 
> _Percheron Airbase, Ibexas_

Parker and James stepped into the interrogation room. A lone black sheep sitting nervously at the other end of the table.

The female sheep was dressed well, the clean pressed Air Front uniform of a low-ranking officer. Her wool was sheared short, and she fidgeted with her hooves nervously as the pair settled into the room.

“Good morning,” Parker said, seemingly feeling empathy for the young sheep.

“Mornin’, ma’am.” She replied, skittish.

“No need to call me ma’am,” she said in a calming voice. Taking a seat at the table, “According to your file you’re actually older than I am. Call me Rebecca.”

“Y-yes, ma’am. Uh, Rebecca.” The sheep said.

James took a seat after pulling out a tape recorder from his pocket and placing it on the table in front of the nervous lamb.

“Good morning. My name is James McRuffage, we work for the Zootopia Department of Home Territory Security. There’s no need to be nervous.” James said, also feeling sympathy for how nervous the sheep seemed. “This is just a formality, you’re not under suspicion for any wrong doing, I assure you.”

The sheep seemed to calm slightly from this, allowing herself a deep breath. “Right, understood.”

“Now, I need to let you know that this conversation will be recorded.” Parker motioned toward the recorder that James had placed down. “We’re just going to ask you a few super quick questions about the incident last year and we’ll be out of your wool. Now please, state your rank and name for the record.”

“Sure,” She nodded, “Unified Air Front, Aeronautic and[ Psychrometric](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychrometrics) Engineering Division, First Lieutenant Sharla Blanc.”


	6. The Perfect Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Parker interrogate an oddly nervous sheep from the countryside, and Runner finds who he was looking for in a place he never expected. If only he could remember why he was looking...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Edited by:** Jeinu, LotharHex, DrummerMax64, and Hunter715

 

> _Sunday, May 3rd, 20X5_
> 
> _Early morning_
> 
> _Percheron Airbase, Ibexas_

“How large was the vehicle that carried the Rubrum?” Parker asked, continuing to busy herself taking notes on her laptop.

“It was about three medium lanes across, we were driving through a wide street. It had already been cleared of traffic in advance.” Lt. Sharla stated, “bu-ut, I don’t recall exactly how long it was.”

Lt. Sharla was a tall and fit black sheep. Her wool was shorn fairly short, which was understandable, given the climate of Ibexas. She seemed to speak with a practiced confidence, but as they sat, it was apparent she was feeling... oppressed by the two federal agents here to question her, despite the assurance that she was not suspected of any wrongdoing. The way she fidgeted and bleated the occasional word made it obvious, to James at least, that she felt out of place. Whether she felt this way about the situation she was currently in, or another aspect altogether was unclear. James empathized, often feeling the same way in many aspects of his life.

“So you’re saying the truck, which was very wide, suddenly made a right turn?” Parker continued her questioning, while James stayed silent.

“Yes, ma’am,” The sheep confirmed, “The front escort of the transport, which consisted of my own LAV and two others, and—”

“For the record, Lt. Sharla, please clarify what a ‘LAV’ is.” Parker interrupted.

“Of course, it’s a Light Armored Vehicle.” She explained.

“And these vehicles in the convoy were all armed, correct?” Parker asked.

“Yes, except for the transport itself.”

“Got it, please continue, what happened after the transport made a right turn?”

James found himself drifting. He watched Parker’s pant legs dragging along the floor as she swayed a leg from her seat. _Is she ever going to buy clothes that fit?_ He thought, letting out a small huff, _She’s ruining the hem of her pants like that._

“Well, the transport turned, I noticed almost immediately, and I stopped my vehicle.” Lt. Sharla continued, “I radioed the other escort vehicles to follow the transport. When I radioed the transport itself, the driver didn’t respond initially.”

“The driver of the transport, you stated earlier that he introduced himself to you before the convoy left the airbase, is that right?” Parker asked. “What did you say his name was?”

“Uh, w-well he said his name was Patrick Sternfang, he was a fox. Slim build, orange-red fur coloring.” The lieutenant explained, and James found himself suddenly stirred at this. “But I heard later that he never really told anyone his real name. He gave me a fake name.”

James began to listen more intently. He had already read the case report from Lt. Sharla’s previous interrogation. There was no new information. So why then, was he suddenly interested?

“Was he the only one in the transport at the time?” Parker continued with her questions.

“No, there were two other escorts. Armed. Neither of them was Air Front. The driver and his two escorts were both private military from BCP.”

“BCP is the corporation that was receiving the Rubrum for dismantling, correct?”

“Correct, yes.”

“Wait a minute.” James interrupted, Parker seemed surprised at this sudden interest in the interrogation. “These two escorts, what did they look like?”

“Well, I didn’t get a good look at ‘em.” Lt. Sharla said, her expression turned to an apologetic one. “I didn’t see them until we started loading up the convoy.”

“Is there anything about them that you remember? What color their fur was, what species? How tall they were?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Lt. Sharla nodded, “One of ‘em was real short, only came up to ‘Patrick’— er, the driver’s knees. And the other was… about the same height as the driver was.”

“They were the same height?” James took mental note of this. “Would you say they were the same species, also?”

“I… I’m not sure. Sorry.” Lt. Sharla shrugged, “I su-uppose it’s possible, the shapes of their ears and muzzle seemed similar.”

“Hmm, I see.” Was all James had to say to that, he gestured to Parker to continue, which she did after giving him a look of confusion.

The rest of the interview held no other information that James found interesting. Or perhaps he was just in thought. _Sternfang…_ He thought, _Could it be?_

* * *

 

“This is where the truck started diverging from the itinerary.” The sheep explained, pointing at an intersection on a Zoogle Map she had brought up on the computer.

James, Parker, and Lt. Sharla had all left the stuffy interrogation room in favor of the airbase’s Security and Comms room. Parker was all too willing to end the questioning there and move on to the next officer, but James had other ideas. It was strange for her to see him suddenly take interest in the year-old case, but she had learned that when he was onto something, he was usually right. Whatever he was after, however, was not as clear.

“What did the driver of the truck say after you radioed him?” James asked, trying to piece together any connections he could find.

“He said that he spotted some ‘suspicious vehicles’ ahead, and was taking another route to avoid them.” Lt. Sharla answered. She dragged the map to point at a location that appeared to be near the bay area. “They made it here and parked the truck between this set of dock warehouses.”

“Why didn’t you order them to stop the truck?” James asked.

“Well, like I-I said: they were BCP Private Military, not Air Front.” She explained. “I-I-I don’t have the authority to be gi-iving them any orders.”

“It’s OK,” Parker said, sensing that Lt. Sharla was getting nervous again due to her bleating. “We’re not saying you’re to blame, my partner is just curious.”

“Ri-ight.” The sheep nodded, she took a breath before continuing. “After about five minutes, the transport stopped responding on the radio. It just sat there, parked. I-I ordered one of the LAV escorts to get out and approach the driver’s cab, j-just to see if him and his buddies were OK.”

“At what point did you radio any of this back to the base?” James asked.

“We had a radio malfunction on all three LAV’s, long-range communication was being jammed.”

“Jammed?”

“Yes, we were able to radio each other and the transport, but not the base.”

“If you were certain you were still able to radio the transport, then why weren’t they responding?” He pressed on.

Parker simply stood by, listening in, pacing back and forth. All of this was already laid out in the report. What was James digging for?

“Air Front radios use a short-wavelength secondary band for data transfer, not only voice.” She explained, “The receiving radio will always send back a small data packet when a transmission is received. The transport was definitely receiving transmissions. When the squad from the other LAV climbed up to open the driver’s side of the transport, they found it empty.” The lieutenant’s voice became rather shaky. “After they radioed back tha-at there was no one inside, they stopped responding too.”

“That’s when you ordered the other LAV to exit their vehicle and check on them?”

“Not exactly,” she managed, shaking her head. “That’s when I started noticing things were mighty suspicious.” James made note of the country drawl that appeared in her voice, possibly a nervous fallback of hers. “I had them begin to check out the area, while my squad stayed in our LAV.”

“You didn’t have your own squad assist?”

“No, it’s standard operating procedure for at least one unit to remain in an armored vehicle, especially when there was no assurance of backup. There were several Ibexas State Police cruisers that followed us, but they are required to maintain a large distance from us. They were really only there to keep traffic away from the roads we were using.”

“So what did your other unit find?” James continued on.

“I-I… I don’t remember much.” Lt. Sharla’s hoof tapped at the desk she was sitting at. “The engine in our vehicle died, and my gunner reported smelling something funny.”

“That was the timed release sleeping gas that was found in your LAV, correct?” James asked.

“Yes, I started feelin’ woozy. I radioed a warning to the other unit and my squad exited our vehicle. All of us had our weapons at the ready because it was apparent we were under attack. We tried to take cover in a nearby parking lot, but we didn’t make it that far. I remember everything was blurry, there were gunshots, and then I passed out. I found out later that the other squad was under attack by some masked mammal.”

“Yes, this ‘masked mammal’.” James pondered aloud, “She apparently took out that entire unit unarmed, paw-to-paw.”

“W-well, I don’t know if it was a she, Lt. Sharla furrowed her brow, “No one got a good enough look at them, especially not me. You’d have to talk to the enlisted that was in that unit.”

Parker gave James a suspicious look. What exactly was going on?

James mentally went over his findings, oblivious to his partner’s continued existence in this exchange.

“Sharla— not to sidetrack,” James said, bringing a paw up to his chin thoughtfully, “I noticed your accent peeks through when you’re stressed. Are you from the south? Or maybe the countryside?”

The black sheep suddenly grew a look of insecurity as she looked away, “O-oh, so-orry...” It was obvious she was doing her best now to hide it. She returned to speaking in an emulated Ibexan accent.

“No, no,” James said, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I was just curious where you were from.”

“Ah, r-right.” She spoke, relaxing slightly. She shook her head, “It’s not something I’m used to talking about... Especially around here. A-anyway, yes, was born and raised in Bunnyburrow, came to Ibexas to join the Air Front right after high school graduation.”

 _Bunnyburrow…_ He thought, nodding, _Interesting._ "Straight out of high school, you say? You seem very knowledgeable for your age, Sharla.”

Parker looked confused at the direction this sudden change in conversation. She rubbed the bridge of her nose in slight annoyance.

“Ah, w-well thank you!” She began fidgeting with her hooves, smiling.

“In any case, you mentioned there was security camera footage of the moment you met the fox driver,” James said, trying to move onto his last source of confirmation. “Also could you show us the body cam’s footage captured by the soldiers that were attacked by this ‘masked mammal’?”

* * *

 

> _Before Noon_

“You think maybe next time you go off on a tangent, you could let your _partner_ in on what’s going on?” Parker huffed, trying to keep herself from swearing.

After saying goodbye to Lt. Sharla and going their separate ways, James and Parker were now outside in the blazing hot Ibexan sun. James had donned his sunglasses, while Parker simply shielded her eyes with a paw. They were headed towards their next subject of questioning.

The base was fraught with activity. Mammals pushing carts loaded with complicated-looking antennas and computer equipment, vehicles of all sizes shuttling mammals and/or cargo to different parts of the spread-out buildings of the base. Many of the base’s buildings consisted of airship and airplane hangars, although some seemed to be meant for living and office use.

It was hot, so very hot. As was the usual climate of this almost desert territory. Both him and Parker kept their long ears extended backward, but not fully upright. The arid and hot climate demanded that they use their ears to dissipate their body heat, but the harsh sounds of the occasional aircraft taking off and landing made it uncomfortable for them.

“I don’t think we need to ask any more questions,” James said back, deflecting her frustration. “I have what we need.”

“Oh, _do_ you now?” Parker lifted the paw that she wasn’t using to shield her eyes in the air incredulously, “Well, I’m so glad _you_ do. All I’m hearing is the same shit the reports from last year told us. Wanna clue us _peasants_ in?”

“Parker, calm down,” James sighed, the loud sounds and rumbles of the airbase were beginning to get to him, “Give me a second, I’m still thinking!”

“Oh, oh! Sure, _sorry_.” Parker started waving both paws in odd gestures as she spoke, “Didn’t know I was disturbing Sherlock fuckin’ Hounds. Yeah, whenever you’re ready to let me know what the hell is goin’ on, I’ll be right here.”

James rolled his eyes as she ranted on, dropping swears and insults as if they were normal words. She was… irritated, and understandably so. But maybe Runner wasn’t quite so sure what he was onto either. The loud rumble of a large [ flying-wing ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/12/2d/af/122daf133f42715cd09c8595a90ffc4a.jpg) taking off did not help to alleviate the commotion. Parker continued to rant on throughout, despite her voice being drowned out.

The two walked for a moment in silence, the hot pavement burning against the fur of their feet. Runner looked occasionally at his hot-tempered partner, deciding if it was wise to clue her in.

“Parker, you saw the camera footage,” James began, yawning. “This, ‘Patrick Sternfang’ introduced himself to the lieutenant moments after she came into the garage.”

“OK?” Parker grumbled, “We knew that already.”

“He was trying to distract her from noticing his accomplice,” James explained, “You could see the other fox sneaking away from the LAV that Lt. Sharla would be driving shortly after this ‘Patrick’ starts talking to her.”

“Yes, they were the one that tampered with the engine and placed the time-release sleeping agent inside. And we don’t know if they were a fox or not, you’re making stupid assumptions.”

James stopped walking and looked around for a good place to discuss this more privately. Admittedly something he should have done sooner. After all, he had told her much more just the previous day, why start the secrecy now? He put a finger up to his muzzle to hush her, and pulled her aside into a nearby hangar bay. It appeared to be a workshop, what few other mammals were in the building were much too busy with loud tools and the like.

“The body cam footage,” James started, “from the soldiers that were attacked by the masked mammal.”

“James, that footage had maybe three or four seconds of the attacker _tops_. What are you—”

“The way that mammal moved, the way she was fighting…”

Parker gave him a light shove, “No, no, no, there’s no way you could have garnered anything from that, that’s not—”

“That’s my fighting style!” James said a little louder than he had intended. He looked around to make sure no one heard him before repeating. “She was using _my_ fighting style.”

“Ugh, wait,” Parker laughed before continuing, “You can’t just _own_ a fighting style; hundreds, _thousands_ probably know whatever fighting style you use.”

Runner thought for a second, that might be true. But there was something about the way she moved, Runner couldn’t be certain, but something about it was just… familiar.

“You also keep assuming it’s a _she_ ,” Parker hissed, “Why the shit do you keep thinking that?”

“Patrick Sternfang.”

“Huh?” Parker tilted a brow at him, and waited for him to continue.

James simply gestured at her as if she should be able to make the connection from that. She didn’t.

“That’s not an answer, bitch!” She snapped, “Keep talkin’!”

Runner gave an odd smile and removed his sunglasses, holding them in one paw and rubbing his eyes with the other.

“The arctic fox that attacked me two nights ago,” he began. “When we met in the lobby, she introduced herself as _Patrina_ Sternfang.”

Parker responded with a look of unbelieving. A beat passed until, “No…”

“…Yes, she did.” James corrected.

“N-no, I mean that’s not possible! It’s just a coincidence.”

“I thought so, too,” he continued. “But last night, I looked up airway travel around the time of the Rubrum theft. Just three days before the incident, there’s a flight listing for a married couple and their child: _Patrina_ and _Patrick_ Canineberg, and their so-called ‘child’, _Patricio_ . Identified by Airdrome Domestic Security as, and I quote; “two foxes of similar height. One arctic white fox, one red fox, and a _third_ golden-colored fox who was of a much smaller breed, possibly a fennec.” Almost exactly matching the descriptions that we’ve been hearing from eye-witnesses around the base. If that isn’t sloppy, then—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Parker stopped him, “is that what this is all about? You think the fox that tried to kill you was involved in the Rubrum incident?”

James sighed, knowing it sounded anecdotal at best, “Yes…”

“With what proof?”

There was that word; ‘proof’. And unfortunately, Runner wasn’t one for hard evidence.

“Don’t have any yet,” He admitted, “ _BUT_ … I know who we need to talk to get it.”

* * *

 

“Do you want to know my name, Jack?”

“I envy you. You know your name, who you are. I don’t know my name— the name I was given when I was born.”

…

_This voice… when did I…?_

_I… don’t remember…_

…

“I only know my codename. I guess it’s who I am. I only feel truly alive when I’m fighting, or… when I was hunting…”

“So then, I decided a long time ago, that my codename would always be my name. Even when I was someone else— _pretending_ to be someone else, I would always know who I really was.”

“My name is Skye, Jack.”

“Please… don’t forget me.”

_I’ll find you. I swear it._

* * *

 

 

> **_2 Weeks Later_ **
> 
> _Tuesday, May 19th, 20X5_
> 
> _Morning_
> 
> _Zootopia Police Precinct One_

_What in the world is he doing here?_ Pythia thought to herself, _That stupid little hare…_

The stark white fox watched from behind a one-way mirror, observing as her ‘client’ Nick Wilde was being interrogated by a certain ‘James McRuffage’. Her arms were crossed, her own claws digging into her arm. Despite this, her face showed nothing of annoyance, only a confident and relaxed grin.

She wore a short black skirt and grey business vest, it was itchy, and too ‘corporate’ for her tastes. She hated it. But the mammal she was right now would need to endure, for the hare in the next room was playing a dangerous game. What it was, she wasn’t quite sure, and this irritated her.

“You sure you’re just gonna let your boy in there talk to the agent by himself?” The hippo officer asked quizzically. “Thought you lawyer types were supposed to be in there with ‘em.”

“Hmm, yes, normally.” She said back sweetly, “But this is a strategic move. You ‘police’ types wouldn’t understand.”

The hippo chuckled at that, “Fair enough.”

She watched on, observing the silver-tongued fox deliver his practiced lines.

“Tell me,” Nick’s voice could be heard from the small television set up to record the meeting. “Is it common practice for you mammals-in-black to ask the same questions that you asked a year ago?”

“It’s common practice for those that are still suspected.” The well-dressed hare spoke flatly, “The case is still open, as you are no doubt aware.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was still suspect,” Nick replied, clacking his claws on the metal table in front of him. “You mean to tell me that you lost a— what, a warhead or something? And you still can’t find it? Ibexas may be big, but it’s not _that_ big. Sounds like incompetence on your end; why should a respectable citizen such as myself have to pay for it?”

The hippo officer let out a laugh, “Your boy’s gotta mouth on ‘im.”

Pythia gave a polite smile to that, “That he does.”

“I was in Nova Ferocia at the time.” Nick calmly explained, his signature smug grin suited him well in this moment. “But of course, you already knew that. You saw everything that proved it: my car rental, my hotel stay, my plane ticket. You can see none of them have the name ‘Patrick Sternfang’, whoever that is.”

Pythia noticed a sly grin cross the hare’s face. James looked in her direction, his expression was strange, as if taunting her. Could he see her? Surely that wasn’t possible. Still, Pythia couldn’t help but feel...

“Yes, Nova Ferocia.” James said, speaking in a new confident tone. “I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

Nick tittered, “Oh, indeed it is. You should check it out sometime.”

“Maybe I will,” James casually nodded, “How’s Francis then?”

There was a pause in the room. Pythia’s smile faded, and concern began to grow within her. She carefully watched Nick’s reaction to this.

“F-Francis?” Nick stuttered.

“Yeah, you’re Francis Wilde’s boy, aren’t you?” James leaned forward, “Isn’t that why you were there? To visit your father?”

“No,” Nick shook his head, “I-I-I was there to attend a—”

“An ice-cream convention, yes, I know.” James chuckled, “Pawpsicon 20X4, I’ve heard it’s gotten quite large.”

“And you heard right,” Nick glanced toward the one-way mirror. “Some mammals _love_ their ice cream, lemmings especially. Wouldn’t miss it. I’ve been attending for—”

“Four consecutive years, yes?”

“R-right!” Nick coughed, “four years, yep.”

“And with these four _consecutive_ visits, you’re telling me you never _once_ visited your father?”

Nick scoffed, “My father… _Francis_ d-doesn’t live in Nova Ferocia.” He almost spat back as he said the name.

“Oh?” James said back, feigning confusion, “The information I have says otherwise.”

“You…” Nick eyed the federal agent suspiciously. “I, uh… You know where he is?”

“I need to get in there,” Pythia said to the hippo, trying to hide her urgency. She jogged to let herself out of the room. The hippo let out a surprised sound as she almost pushed him out of the way. _He’s bluffing, Nick! He has no idea where Francis is!_

She found the door down the hallway to his interrogation room was locked. Of course it was locked. She looked up to the nearby tiger officer, and leveled her voice with a practiced tone, “Let me in, please.”

The tiger gave Pythia an amused look as she moved to unlock the door. Pythia briskly stepped into the room as the tiger opened it for her.

“OK, I believe this has gone on long enough.” Pythia said with an utmost professionalism. “Nick, come with me, please. We’re leaving.”

“Hmm, who might you be, ma’am?” James asked, a shit-eating grin consuming his face.

“I’m his—”

“His lawyer, yes, I know.” He stood and put his paws in his vest pockets. “But I don’t believe I’ve gotten your name.”

She paused, “P-Pythia Olavé.”

Nick looked between the two, confused. There was a silence between them.

“As my client is not being detained,” Pythia started, “We’re done entertaining this line of questioning; it clearly no longer pertains to the case.”

“Oh, by all means.” James said, his smile unrelenting. He made a gesture signifying that they were free to leave, never letting his eyes off her. “Nick, thanks for being a good sport. I have everything I need here.”

Nick said nothing more, only giving a brief look to Pythia. The two made their way to the door, held open by the same tiger officer.

“Watch the ‘skies’, Wilde.” James added.

Nick smiled, shook his head, then walked out of the room.

Pythia remained, lingering in the threshold. Her heart beat harder, as if it was compensating for a sudden emptiness.

 _Why do you do this to me, Jack?_ She thought. _Do you… remember me or not?_

She glanced back at the hare, attempting to hide the forlorn look on her face. She failed. He returned it, in kind, with another look. An almost… remorseful one. As he stared at her, she fought to keep her emotions in check. But what was she feeling? Confusion? Anger? _Pain?_ Or maybe… longing? Despite her inner conflict, she managed to maintain her already faltering persona.

The two remained in place for a time, one looking at the other. Until finally—

“Have a good day, Agent McRuffage.” She nodded, and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that also read Contrasts...; surprise!


	7. Witness of the Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runner can't seem to remember the promise he made to his old rival. Maybe a look into the past will solve his problem. After all, the Rubrum incident seems to lead much deeper than he or Parker expected. In the present day however, an innocent sheep in Ibexas has her life and career on the line if James can't find the answer in time.
> 
> "You're as inconspicuous as a full moon in a clear night sky, my dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Edited by:** StatelyFOX(formerly Hunter715), Erinnyes, Jeinu, LotharHex, Mr. Manchas, and DrummerMax64
> 
> Yes, I realize that I haven’t updated in **over half a year** … But I’m back! I want to thank all my readers for being patient. And I want to thank my editors for sticking with me through all my inactivity. 
> 
> I am going to change my update schedule to prevent myself from burning out again. Instead of updating a different story every week. I will be updating a single story multiple times per month, then switching to another story the following month. I’ve noticed that switching stories weekly, while keeping things fresh for myself, also cancelled out any momentum that I would acquire while writing a story. So instead, my goal is to write 3 to 5 chapters per month on a single story. 
> 
> I will be updating Consecution until the end of June, then I'll be switching to a full month of Constants.
> 
> So with that, I hope you enjoy Consecution Part 2.

> **_Four Years Ago_ **
> 
> _Five months after the collapse of the Schevo Republic, and the end of the War of Fear_
> 
> _Thursday, October 13th, 20X1_
> 
> _Morning_
> 
> _Mole Harbor, Savanna Central_

**_This will be your new life._ **

The arctic fox pocketed her paperwork and crossed the crowded walkway from the gently rocking sea-vessel onto solid ground. The bustling dock was filled with passersby.

The cool air filled her nostrils; familiar yet strange scents were all around her. The smell of other animals, the smell of cars, the smell of industry. The scent she longed for most of all was nowhere to be found. She lightly chuckled, smiling to herself. Strange how she had expected _his_ scent after just barely arriving.

No one paid her much mind, but she could still see the occasional glance in her direction. Odd expressions toward the fox who was dressed in mostly loose clothing. Clothing that was given to her just a few days prior as the ship neared its destination.

**_From here on, you will live out your days free of the Schevo Republic. And soon, thanks to you, the world will live free of it as well._ **

She made her way forward, feeling alienated, surrounded by strange sights, strange architecture. She had been to many, many places like this before, she had even been to Zootopia already, but this time was different.

**_You will be provided with an apartment, a low-profile job, and an agent from Immigrations and Customs Enforcement will check on you weekly._ **

Having been on a boat for nearly three weeks, it was finally time to start looking. Looking for what exactly, she wasn’t quite sure. As she roamed through Immigration Processing, she could only wonder: Why did she come here? Why did she _really_ betray her homeland? Three weeks ago, she had conviction, clear reasoning, one mammal on her mind. One promise made, and broken.

After a long journey on the expansive Altan ocean, she had time for contemplation and reflection. But such time does not always bring about clarity, and in Skye’s case, she was no longer certain about a great many things.

**_When the dust settles from the War of Fear, when it’s truly over, we’ll see about getting you better accommodations like we promised. But for now, keep your head down, stick to the better parts of town, and most of all, behave yourself._ **

She stepped forward, outside once again, into the cold wind and the morning sun. There it was: Zootopia, where anyone could be anything. Was Jack truly here? Was he still alive? She hadn’t seen him since she had nursed him back to health. Since he made his promise to her.

The city was brimming with life, even so early in the morning. Cars of wildly varying sizes drove through the winding streets. Mammals of all species went about their ways. The buildings were even more distinct, reaching high into the sky, all having a unique and whimsical architecture. A stark contrast from her own hometown, Obreigh.

Skye was overwhelmed. At long last, she had escaped her life of war, combat, and never-ending strife and bloodshed. A new fantastical home stood before her. A beacon of acceptance and engineering, with new opportunities sprawling before her in every direction she turned. And in every direction, a new mammal going about their business, bustling with their own vibrant lives and purpose.

But she was alone. And she felt alone, so, so alone. She had turned her back on her country, her home, and her unit, the only family she had ever known.

**_From this day forward, you are no longer a Schevite. You are a full Zootopian citizen. Henceforth, you are not the mammal you once were; you will have a new name._ **

She pulled out a paper map that she was given; a circle pinpointed where she would be living and an address was scrawled along side it. Feeling the keys in her coat pocket, she moved forth into the city to find her new apartment. She wouldn’t hail a cab, it wasn’t too far from where she was anyway. Besides, reaching her new apartment would only serve to remind her of how isolated she was. Maybe she would wander a bit before she went there.

Hopeful, optimistic, scared. She was all of these things. What would she find? Would Jack even remember her? What would she do when she found him? Each new question led to new ones as she moved through the strange urban landscape, where each road split into more just the same.

One thing was certain: she was here now. Everything that had happened, happened, and everyone that had died, died, and arguably it had all been by her hand. Was she to blame for the downfall of the Schevo Republic? Maybe, it was all for the best, surely. The weight of her decision had not yet settled in, despite her time spent agonizing over it.

_Jack,_ the name echoed in her mind, _Where are you? I waited for you… Maybe I was just a fool. Maybe I still am._

**_Welcome to Zootopia, ‘Pythia Olavé’._ **

 

> _Noon_
> 
> _Grazing Heights Apartments_
> 
> _308 Cicada Park Ave, Apt 809._

Pythia. Pythia, Pythia… Pythia. It was a name that she would repeat in her head over and over. It was no different from a codename, right? The name “Skye” was, after all, a codename. She had not learned her birth name, so it was all she had.

But she had left that name, she had left her unit, _betrayed them_. And for all she knew, they had all been killed, or worse, tortured to death in a Schevite prison.

_No. No more._

She shook her head. Skye did that, not Pythia. Who she was before this day was her no longer. She was a new vixen. A young fox setting out to start her life in the wonderful Democratic Territory of Zootopia.

Pythia explored her new apartment, after a somewhat uneventful stroll of her new sprawling city home. Her apartment was strange, the ceiling was much higher than she was used to, and the hallways wide. It was a small flat, consisting of her bunk, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a living space. She would find a use for the living space later, surely.

She rolled the strap of her half empty knapsack from her shoulder. She had not brought much with her, it wasn’t like she had much left after the attack of Obreigh. She had even surrendered her precious vulpine rifle before being taken to the boat that would lead her here.

She had tried to save something, however. Something strange, and yet, something she did not want to part with. A bullet. A .22 Caliber, long-range bullet. A large bullet for a mammal her size, sure, but she had always known how to handle them. But she was forced to give that up as well. The agents that had allowed her safe passage were very thorough in their… searches.

And so she had nothing.

She knew no one.

Every mammal she had ever loved was gone. All except for one.

Pythia was not a gambling vixen, she decided, but there was one mammal she was betting on. One last mission that she would task herself with. One final target.

She would track down Jack Savage.

_And kill him._

* * *

>   _A few days pass_
> 
> _Morning_
> 
> _9606 Baobab Blvd, Savanna Central_

“Children,” said the large black Jaguar, “This is Pythia, she will be taking care of a few things around the house.”

Her new host was well dressed, a grey vest and a striped silk shirt underneath. His accent was subtle, but there. He gave off a gentle aura.

“Hello.” Pythia waved at the three children. Two looked to be twins, both girls, and an older one, another girl.

The older girl was almost Pythia’s height, and she looked at the fox with an almost detestable glare before deciding that she no longer cared. Her arms were crossed, and she leaned against the head of a jaguar-sized couch.

The house was beautiful, extravagant. Adorned with foreign decor, and brightly colored carpet and furniture. Despite this, the house itself was rather small, being as compact as possible in a crowded city suburb. The jaguar family seemed at home here nonetheless.

“She’s a fox, Daddy.” Said one of the small girls. Both were looking up at her in curiosity.

“Yes,” the father acknowledged, taking on a loving yet scolding expression. “Matea, what did I tell you about pointing out a mammal’s species?”

“That’s so cool!” The other twin exclaimed, ignoring the warning, “Foxes are cool!”

In response, her father laughed, “That may be, Pequeña. But we mustn’t dwell on species, she is going to be a great help to our family.”

“Are you going to do our chores?” asked both of the twins, excited, nearly in unison.

The father laughed again. “First things first; why don’t you tell her your names before you begin having expectations.”

“My name’s Matea!” beamed one of the little ones.

The other followed after a beat, “I’m— I’m Isabelle.”

Pythia smiled at them, “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you. Matea, Isabelle.”

The father looked toward her older daughter in expectation.

“What?” She raised her brow before crossing her arms in defiance.

Her large father looked down at her, his expression turning to one of gentle warning.

The girl let out a grunt and let her arms fall to her side, “Zoe.”

“Happy to meet you as well, Zoe.” Pythia said, nodding.

“Perfect,” the father said, clapping his large paws together. “Girls, why don’t you go finish your lunches. I shall show Pythia around the house.”

The girls left, not before one of the twins lingered behind to give Pythia one more glance.

“And I’m Leonardo Felino,” her host said, turning toward her. “I hope that you and I will become close during your work here.”

“I hope that as well, Mr. Felino.” Pythia nodded.

“Call me Leo.” He said warmly, walking around her and gesturing for her to follow. “Let us go meet my wife.”

“Ah, Leo, then.” She said as she followed him towards the stairs.

The house was highly decorated, strange yet calming art adorning the walls. Plants, lots of plants, tall ones, sat in earthly colored vases. A skylight, which allowed the mid-morning sun to shine through, illuminated most of the foyer they were in.

Leo began to ascend the stairs, turning his head to make sure Pythia followed.

“You are very quiet,” he said, “even to my excellent hearing your footsteps do not make a sound.”

Pythia did not respond to this, merely making a small “hmm”.

“Tell me,” Leo said, “Where are you from?”

_Obreigh_ , she thought to herself. A pang of longing coursed through her as she recalled her old home.

“I…” she paused. She took a moment to breathe, to set aside doubts and emotion. She would deal with them when she got back to her apartment.

The two reached the second floor of the house. Leo led her through another hallway, not as decorated as the foyer, but using the same feel of decorations nonetheless.

“You do not know?” Laughed the jaguar.

“I’m from Cervograd.” She said. Her voice was practiced, despite her initial hesitation. She continued her lie. “I was born in Giranamy, but since the War of Fear…”

“Ah, a refugee,” Leo said, his voice sympathetic, “I am sorry to hear of what happened to your great city, and to your birthplace. It was truly a terrible tragedy, this war.”

“Thank you, sir— Leo.” She said, feigning sorrow for the loss of Cervograd. In truth, she had only been there on a handful of occasions. “But… it is behind me now.”

“A respectable attitude,” Leo nodded as he led her through a glass door, which the sun shone through, out onto a patio. “We cannot control the past, now can we? Our eyes face only one direction after all.”

The patio was covered with a patterned canopy. It was lined with planter boxes, filled with several types of plants and vegetables in various stages of maturity.

“Camille,” he said, speaking to the female jaguar. “I’d like you to meet our new assistant.”

The female jaguar turned to face them. She wore a white floppy sun hat, which balanced against her black feline ears rather than letting them poke through. The blue and white striped dress she wore was simple, and conformed to her feminine feline curves.

“Ah, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Camille said, looking down to the new guest. “I hope my kits didn’t scare you off. I, um… can’t say I’m still used to the idea of this house having a— s-servant?” She looked to her husband, unsure of what word to use for Pythia.

Leo shook his head, chuckling, “While she will be doing a few chores around the house on a regular basis, I will still much rather you refer to her as our ‘Family Assistant’.”

“Pythia, yes, assistant,” Camille repeated, looking unsure as to exactly what that entailed. She held out her larger black paw, “Since you’ll be spending a lot of time here at our house, I’d feel much more comfortable if we could have a chat later. Get some time to know you, maybe over a cup of coffee?”

Camille’s intonations were strange, as if trying to infer an offer of friendship underneath a quick-talking demeanor. Maybe this was a social norm here in Zootopia. She would have to learn to decipher it quickly if she ever hoped to blend in and not cause discomfort.

“Sure,” Pythia nodded, “I’d love that, Camille.” She returned the gesture and shook Camille’s larger paw, which had wavered in the air for a tad too long.

Pythia remarked at how fragile she looked. In her previous life as Skye, she had met many children and mothers, mammals that couldn’t fight for themselves. _Civilians_. Camille looked healthy, to be sure, but there was an air about her, as if for the first time Skye was meeting someone that truly did rely on bigger, stronger mammals for their protection, especially in times of war.

But what were these thoughts? Pythia shook them from her head. That wasn’t her life anymore. In an instant, the moment she made the decision to come to Zootopia, was when she cast aside who she used to be.

And yet…

Pythia gave a smile in return to the kind, welcoming jaguar.

_Pathetic._

* * *

 

The Felino household was moderately sized, being for a larger class animal species. Pythia found that it took effort to keep the house clean, but what took more time was the surrounding yard. For a house in the middle of the suburbs, it had a surprisingly large yard. Trees, small rock gardens, even a terrace that had a hot tub. Unused, as it would seem the Felino family didn’t have an affinity for water.

The house was generously decorated with live trees and plants. Some planted in large pots, others in dirt plots installed around the house. Despite trying to live a new life, she couldn’t help but liken the frivolous nature of these decorations to those she often found in houses in the city of Cervograd. Before its untimely destruction, of course.

While she found her basic apartment more in line with normal housing from her home country, the Felino household was anything but.

She carried on being busy, keeping to herself as she did her best to please her host family.

_Host family?_ She would ponder, a strange thing to call them. After all, they were paying her a decent wage. And she didn’t live with them, although, strangely enough, she found herself preferring the company of the Felino family to her lonely apartment.

But it would appear that the Felino family was, in fact, a host family of sorts. It was because of them that she would be allowed to live in this territory. They gave her a means of keeping her head down, of not causing trouble.

Leo and his family were nothing but kind, the two younger children wanting nothing more than to express their interest in their quiet and gentle housekeeper.

Leo was usually away from home, and Pythia wasn’t quite sure what he did to earn an income yet. But Camille seemed to be a mother that would constantly be around the house to care for the children, or to help Pythia with cleaning.

A strange arrangement.

While the unfamiliarity would never really leave Pythia, it faded as time passed. She would mow the lawn, walk Zoe and the twins Isabelle and Matea to and from school, prepare their lunches. She also did the odd repair job: the children’s bicycles, the lawnmower, the house’s sprinkler system. Leo and Camille would often remark at her handimammal capability.

It was no mystery to Pythia however, as she often found, whether it was a mechanical device or an electrical one, she would often feel her nerves come alive at the notion of caring or maintaining such fantastic examples of mammal ingenuity.

Although, she found that she often longed for the cold hard steel of a masterfully crafted rifle against her finger pads. It was a sensation that was like no other, and one that she would not feel again for a long time.

The City of Zootopia wasn’t quite what Pythia had expected. In her free time, she would wander around the downtown area. She knew that there were other areas of the city: Tundra Town, Sahara Square, the Rainforest District. But she had not yet ventured past Savanna Central. She intended to at some point, but for now, she was content to stay in the crowded city sector.

If the television or radio broadcasts in her home territory were to be believed, Zootopia was ripe and alluring on the outside, but deceitful and rotten on the inside. “Zootopia is a failure!” she would often find on propaganda, or even on graffiti. But Pythia knew better. She had hoped for a perfect world, ripe with opportunity and equality.

In spite of these expectations, Pythia found that the truth was somewhere in between. Zootopia was not the shining beacon of acceptance that she had come to believe. Was it better than the Schevo Republic? By far, absolutely. But Zootopia had a long road ahead yet.

But Pythia was not a socialite anyway. With the exception of certain members of the Felino family, she was used to the stares, the commentary, even the occasional rude comment from passersby. It was of little consequence. Her skin was thick, and her mind tired.

Technology, however, that is where she found true solace.

It was October, nearly November, yet the temperature in Savanna Central did not seem to drop. Rather, staying at a chill but comfortable level. It did not snow, at least not yet. The snow was not scheduled to start until early December, or so the internet would tell her. A utility she would occasionally use whenever the Felino family’s computer was free, at least until she bought a phone using the money from her first paycheck from the Felino family. This was a device she was thrilled to get ahold of.

The concept of weather control was not entirely new to Pythia, having seen it in action in Cervograd and several of its outlying territories. It was obvious to Pythia, however, that despite great efforts in Cervograd’s attempt to “copy” as much as possible from the city of Zootopia, that the underlying technology and architecture was more... primitive in Cervograd.

Excitement would flow through her as she thought of the monstrous Particle Exciter column located underneath the city: the Conifer. A true marvel of engineering and mammal adaptiveness. She would never be allowed near it, nor would she find any information on it on the internet, but she appreciated its mere existence nonetheless. While most mammals believed that it was Zootopia’s great “wall” structure that provided the control over the environment, Pythia knew of the true foundation.

She often found that the skills and information she had obtained in her previous life were not at all useful in her new life, save for her mechanical and engineering skills, of course, which would help her to fix the occasional toaster or toilet now and then. On reflection, she found it rather fortunate that she needed few of her skills from her previous life. It meant that less people were actively attempting to kill her at present.

Still, there were other particularities of her life that she would enjoy. And as she would soon find out, a fact that she would be reminded of time and time again: nothing lasts forever.

* * *

> _A few weeks pass_

“Get the hell out of my room, _fox_.” Zoe huffed, throwing a stuffed animal, a skunk wearing an argyle green sweater, at Pythia’s feet. “I can keep it clean on my own.”

“I respectfully beg to differ, Miss.” Pythia said in the nicest tone she could muster. “You have clothes everywhere and your trash needs to be emptied.”

“Ugh, stop calling me Miss!” The young girl flopped about on her bed and groaned, “Get out!”

“I’ll come back when you’re not using your room.” Pythia agreed, and turned to leave.

“Fine, whatever.” Zoe said as Pythia shut the door behind her.

Pythia took a deep breath, clearing her mind of any harsh intentions toward the bratty child.

She had grown used to the attitude that Zoe had shown her the past few weeks. It was grating, but manageable. It would seem that Zoe took issue with Pythia being a fox, having one be in the house. Or at least, that was how Zoe would often vocalize it, despite the regular scoldings she would receive from her mother, and from her father, if he was around.

“Pythia, honey, can you come to the kitchen?” A gentle voice called from the kitchen.

Pythia had never quite gotten used to the way Camille talked to her. She was so kind, and yet not overbearing. Pythia was a fox, not even a member of the same species, and yet Camille spoke to her in a way that conveyed… was it equality?

Pythia obliged and turned the corner to come into the kitchen, where Camille seemed to be working on some type of confection.

Camille always seemed to be cooking, gardening, or spending time with the children. She did not seem to have a job of her own. Surely another tenant of the “Zootopian Dream”.

“Shall I help with your cooking?” Pythia offered.

“No, no,” Camille shook her head. “We’re getting ready for a party later tonight, I need to ask you a huge favor.”

The Felino family seemed to be pretty big on family gatherings. At least, Pythia would assume that the guest mammals were family. The guests were always mostly jaguars, save for the few rodents.

“Of course,” Pythia affirmed, “Just tell me what you need done.”

“I know this isn’t what you normally do,” Camille stopped working on her baked goods for a moment and looked toward Pythia apologetically, “And I hate to have you dirty your beautiful white fur, but could you clean the jacuzzi?”

The jacuzzi? The family had not, nor any party guests, used the hot tub in as long as Pythia had worked here.

“The Moleone family is visiting tonight,” Camille explained, “I’d like to have it clean for them in case they want to relax.”

That explained the sudden use of the forgotten luxury appliance. Pythia had heard of the Moleone family. They seemed to be a large, wealthy rodent family, foreign, from Rodentia. Not _Little_ Rodentia, but the true romantic, aristocratic paradise of Rodentia, across the sea. Why were they visiting the Felino family? Pythia couldn’t help but wonder.

“Of course,” Pythia nodded, “I’ll get started right away.” She began to walk toward the large glass doors that led to the bright outside.

“Wait.” Camille said, sliding her uncooked cake batter into the oven.

“Yes?”

“Don’t start on that quite yet. Come, have a seat. I’ll make you a cup of coffee first.”

Pythia obliged, always ready for a cup of Camille’s coffee. She sat at the table that was slightly too tall for her. The Felino family had since provided her with a raised chair, which she thought strange at the time, a permanent placement for a fox, in the home of a jaguar family.

As Camille prepared two mugs of fresh coffee, there was a comfortable silence. This seemed to be a routine the two had developed; Camille would hesitantly ask Pythia for some help around the house— some task, and she would then obligingly provide some coffee or some other treat before sending Pythia off to accomplish the chore. A gesture that the vixen always accepted.

“So how are you liking, um— _assisting_ my family?” Camille asked, unsure of how to word her attempt at small talk. “Zoe still giving you trouble?”

Pythia took a sip of her still hot coffee. “It’s no trouble at all,” she assured, “I can handle her just fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” Camille gave a nervous smile, “I wish I knew why she acts that way towards you. At least the twins seem to really like you.”

The white fox nodded, fondly thinking of the two young girls. “They’ve truly been welcoming. They can’t seem to leave me be while I tend to the house.”

A silence set in between the two as they enjoyed their coffee. Pythia could tell that something was different today, as Camille never seemed to have a care in the world. But now, she seemed worried, stressed.

“Is something the matter?” Pythia asked, a discernible amount of sincere care entering her voice.

Camille hummed for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say anything.

“It’s probably nothing,” Camille dismissed the question.

“It still seems to be causing you some discomfort.” Pythia said, wondering if her nervousness stemmed from the impending visit from the Moleone family. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Another silence as Camille added more cream to her coffee. Much more than she usually added.

“The Moleone family. Mr. Big is coming to… _talk_ with my husband about a few things.” Camille hesitantly explained. Her voice was quieter, as if not wanting anyone to hear. “My husband and I have, um— what you would call a history with them.”

This piqued Pythia’s interest.

“Mr. Big assured me that we’re still in good terms with the family, but…” Camille paused.

Pythia wasn’t sure exactly what it was that made Mr. Big so powerful, but she could understand why the head of a crime family might be intimidating to a kindly jaguar housewife.

“Anyway,” Camille snapped out of her worries and abruptly downed the rest of her coffee, “Perhaps, I’ve said too much. I just have one favor to ask.”

Pythia agreed with the change in subject, as she didn’t feel comfortable being dragged too far into this family’s problems.

“Of course, ma’am.” Pythia said, “That would be?”

“In the coming months, if my husband asks you to do anything… _strange_ , I ask that you not judge him too harshly.”

“Strange?” Pythia asked, not sure if she truly wanted the clarification.

“And please come to me if you feel like he’s getting himself into trouble. I trust my husband to be open with me, it’s just…”

Pythia could only speculate at what any of this meant. But if the Moleone family visit was any indication…

Pythia stood from the table, taking both empty mugs. “I understand. I’ll do what needs to be done.” She started towards the sink. It was too high, but there was a step stool provided for her a few feet down the counter. She pushed it toward the sink with her foot. “I’ll start on cleaning the hot tub as soon as I’ve cleaned the dishes, ma’am.”

Camille made a hum, signifying her gratitude, and stood from the table to check on what she had put in the oven.

_Leo Felino… what kind of trouble could you possibly have gotten your family into?_  

* * *

_James, that sheep girl that we interrogated is going to be in some deep shit._

What do you mean?

_They’re trying to get approval to extradite her here to Zootopia. Saying it’s just ‘official procedure’. I’m saying it’s all bullshit, I think they’re trying to use her as a scapegoat for the Rubrum incident, saying that she was behind all of it._

What?! Parker, are you sure? They can’t do that, our reports both state that it’s not possible for her to have had anything to do with—

_They threw our reports out, I just got off the phone with Grant. He says that the Zootopia Secretary of Defense is taking over this case personally. You and I have both been reassigned to another case. This is turning into a huge fucking mess!_

The Secretary of Defense? That doesn’t make any sense… This case has been cold for over a year now and—

_That’s exactly why. The DHTS and Town Hall are both under fire to arrest someone…_ **_anyone_ ** _for this._

They can’t just arrest an innocent mammal and pin all the blame on her…

_Psh, wake up! This happens all the time! I’m surprised it took them this long to resort to crap like this. James, you need to file what you have on Nicholas Wilde and Pythia Olavé. Otherwise, we’re both going to be responsible for the false incrimination of Lt. Sharla. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I could fuckin’ live with something like that._

Bastards…

_It’s over, James. We need to submit Nicholas and Pythia as our prime suspects._

No, there’s more to it than that. I know it. I just need more time.

_Yeah, yeah. Take_ **_all_ ** _the time you need. Oh wait, there isn’t any left!_

You’re right. But I know where we can get all the time in the world.


	8. A Fall of Manner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more James and Parker dig into this seemingly normal civilian family, the more things start to smell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by: Jeinu, Mr. Manchas, DrummerMax64, Hunter715
> 
> Felino Family illustration by: [ziegelzeig](https://www.deviantart.com/ziegelzeig/art/Manchas-Family-744009464)
> 
> I wasn't going to post this music to go along with it, as I usually listen to some retro inspired music to write each chapter. But this one is so close to my story I couldn't resist: [SLEEPWALKING by NINA](https://soundcloud.com/ninasounduk/sleepwalking)

 

 

> _Monday, December 19th, 20X1_
> 
> _Afternoon_

“Pithi! Pith-ee-yuh!”

“What is it, little one?” Pythia responded, sitting down next to Matea on the couch. Her sister Isabelle busied herself with a stack of post-its that she had taken from the coffee table.

“Pitha, I wanna be in the party with mom and dad.” Matea pouted, as if to use sympathy as a means to get what she wanted.

“That’s a grown-up party,” Pythia said, reaching to pull Matea’s paw from dragging her claw along the fabric of the couch. “Mommy said the three of you have to be in this room until the party is over. Want me to go into the other room and bring you back some pizza?”

Matea pouted further, but also gave a look of relent. She nodded her head lackadaisically a few times, signifying that she would indeed like some pizza.

“Isabelle?” Pythia asked the kit on the floor, who was laying out each post-it note in a neatly organized grid. “Pizza?”

“Yes, please.” She nodded, not taking her eyes off the post-its.

“Zoe?” Pythia turned to the next child.

Zoe had sat toward the corner of the room, next to a large bookshelf. She was very absorbed into a game that was flashing colors from her large phone.

“Yeah, sure.” Zoe said indifferently, her clawed thumbs tapping away on the touch screen.

“Alright then, girls, I’ll be back with some chow”, and with that Pythia stood from her seat next to Matea and headed for the more crowded part of the house.

Leaving the secondary living room, she closed the door behind her. The house wasn’t terribly crowded, the only problem being the polar bears carrying several rodent guests around the house to socialize with the jaguars. The occasional outlier animal, a wolf, a squirrel and an buffalo, made their appearance as Pythia looked around the party.

As she made her way through the crowd toward the kitchen, where Camille and Leo were entertaining guests, she kept an eye out for the rodent called Mr. Big. She didn’t know what he looked like, but surely a powerful figure head would have an additional polar bear guarding him.

“Oh, Pythia.” Leo said, excusing himself from a group of mice, polar bears, and jaguars. “Is everything all right? How are the children?”

“Hungry,” she grinned, looking around the room for the rumored pizza.

While her and Leo prepared the three plates of pizza, Pythia kept a curious eye out for the elusive Mr. Big. But none of the rodents stood out, so with a loss in interest, she brought the food back to the eagerly awaiting kits.

“Thanks,” Zoe said flatly, taking the plate of pizza, then returning to her rotated phone. She appeared to have switched to a movie, rather than the game she was playing earlier.

Returning to the couch, Pythia smiled as the two young ones tore into the pizza, eating in their usual primal fashion. It would be a few more months before they learned to eat more calmly, if Camille was to be believed. Even Isabelle had since abandoned her precious sticky note masterpiece in favor of the newly presented prey.

“Why we gotta stay in here?” Isabelle asked, barely swallowing the bite she was chewing with her molars. ”I’m bored, Pytha.”

“Pytha, Pizza, Pythuh Pizzuh”, mused Matea as she tilted her head back and forth before taking another bite. She did not seem as bored as her siblings.

“Finish your food, and I’ll think of something for us to do.” Pythia promised.

There was no TV in this room. It was a less used room in the house, but it included a backdoor that lead to the back yard. A few rodents soaked themselves in the shallower portion of the hot tub. Pythia struggled to pick out the shrew that she was looking for. Until by chance, a shine caught her eye, then another. The glint of a tiny finger, a tiny ring. This particular shrew was guarded by a particularly large polar bear, who stood by outside of the hot tub holding a tiny swiveling chair.

_That’s him._

* * *

 

_The Felino Family, James?_

Yes, three children and a mother, currently living in Growlorado except for their eldest daughter, Zoe Felino

_Leonardo Felino was really hard to find information on, I’m still looking for his whearabouts. His record was highly protected._

Was? Parker, you’re going to get caught one of these days.

_You should know me well enough by now, ‘Jack’. I find things. Anyway, says here his real name isn’t Leonardo. His wife has a fudged history too._

Don’t tell me both of them were involved in special forces.

_No, nothing like that. Looks like this ‘Camille’ was a_ [ _phytologist_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Botany) _for the Allergibbon Corporation during the War of Fear. She worked on several classified projects for the Unified Air Front before she went into ‘early retirement’._

A phytologist and a pharmaceuticals company… Sounds like she went into hiding. What kind of projects?

_Hmm, dunno yet._

Yet?

_OK, quit repeating single fuckin’ words I say. Yes, ‘yet’. I’m working on it._

So what do we know then?

_Looks like she was employed by the Felino family for a time. But this “Pythia” seems to have a spotty record after the family parts ways. Here look at this._

Hmm, a photo?

_I’m pretty sure this is your vixen. They look really close._

Now… what would an Arctic fox like this be doing in a family photo of jaguars?

* * *

 

“You used to be a spy?” Matea asked, “What’s a ‘spy’?”

“It means she’s a pervert.” Isabelle giggled. “She looks at other mammals naked!”

“Gross!” Matea said, making a face of confusion, “Pythi, you’re gross!”

The two girls laughed. Both had finished their pizza and had come over to Pythia to partake of what she promised. There were coloring books, handheld games and the like in the room that they occupied, but neither twin seemed interested in those. Pythia, as always it seemed, was at the center of their attention.

Pythia continued her story. “A spy is someone who blends in, who hides in other territories, they pretend to be your friend. Spies gather information on the enemy, sometimes that did involve seeing another mammal naked. James Bun was a spy in fact, you know, like in the movies?”

“James Bun killed animals.” Isabelle said, “Did you kill anyone?”

“James Bun didn’t just kill animals,” Pythia laughed, dodging the question. “He also stopped the big bombs from hitting everyone, and stopped the bad guys so they wouldn’t do it again.”

“Did you stop bombs from hitting us?” Matea asked earnestly.

“Hmm, no. But I know who did.” Pythia nodded, _I knew him better than anyone…_

“Was it James Bun?” Isabelle asked.

“ _Almost_ ,” Pythia shook her head, amused at the comparison. “He was a _hare_ , not a bunny. And he wasn’t as good-looking.”

“Did you help?” came another question, Isabelle again. “Did you stop the bad guys?”

_I_ **_was_ ** _the bad guys._

“Yes, I stopped the bad guys while he stopped the bombs.” Pythia nodded.

“You’re such a liar.” A voice came from the corner of the room. The twins looked in her direction. Zoe had gotten up from her chair and was listening to the conversation.

“Me?” Pythia played coy, “A liar? Surely you are mistaken, Miss.”

“If you were really a spy, you wouldn’t be telling anyone.” Zoe mocked.

“Hmm, you’re right.” Pythia shrugged, she turned to the twins, whispering. “Don’t tell anyone, I could get in real big trouble.”

The twins giggled at that.

“Plus, you work for us as a maid.” Zoe contorted her face into one of incredulousness, “What kinda spy cleans houses?”

“Eh, I’m retired,” Pythia shrugged. “How do you know I’m not just blending in? You sure have a sudden interest.”

Zoe’s expression turned, suddenly becoming aware. “N-no, no I’m not. I just think you’re a bad liar.”

“Hmm,” Pythia put a clawed finger up to her lower lip, “Maybe I am, what do you care?”

Zoe huffed, embarrassed. She turned around to go back to her chair. “Whatever, this is stupid.”

“Zoe, why do you hate our Pytha?” blurted out one of the twins. To even Pythia’s surprise, Isabelle had spoken up.

“Yeah, you’re mean!” Matea joined in. “You’re being bad to Pytha all the time.”

Zoe, unfazed by this question from her sisters, slumped down on her chair and crossed her arms.

“Because she’s a fox.” Zoe said after a beat, “Dad used to say that you can never trust a fox.”

“Nuh-uh!” Isabelle stood up, “Dad never said that.”

“Yeah, he did,” Zoe shot back, sticking her tongue out at Isabelle. “He used to say all kinds of things like that before you two were born.”

Leo had said that? Pythia had only known Mr. Felino for about a month, but she had a hard time believing what Zoe had claimed. Leo would often scold Zoe about exactly that, showing disrespect and distrust based on species.

“We were much better off before you came along.” Zoe looked straight at Pythia, dead serious.

Nothing more than hurtful words from a young one that didn’t know the power words could hold. And yet Pythia couldn’t help but feel… challenged.

“Why do you feel that way?” Pythia asked.

“For one thing, I didn’t have to worry about some weirdo going through my room while I wasn’t around.”

“So keeping your room clean keeps you worse off?” Pythia let out a breath, “If I weren’t around, your poor mother would need to clean up for you. And don’t forget, you’re a teenager, young miss. Your clothes aren’t exactly pleasant-smelling after they’ve lain on the floor for a week _or more_.”

Zoe furrowed her brow. Pythia was trying to embarrass her, and it was working. “Shut the hell up.”

The twins let out a gasp at their sister’s brash language.

“Alright, alright,” Pythia relented, “let’s calm down. Zoe, I know you haven’t liked me since I arrived, even before I had a chance to do anything.”

Zoe kept quiet, giving a grumpy look back.

“I really enjoy spending time with you all,” Pythia continued, “I really would like for you to trust me, Zoe.”

Silence. After a moment, Pythia stood from her seat on the couch, leaving the twins to watch on in silence.

She walked over toward the armchair that Zoe had lain herself across. She crouched down onto her haunches.

“What can I do to gain your trust?” Pythia smiled, “I would do anything for you girls.”

Zoe looked at Pythia, then to her sisters on the couch, then back to the vixen. She took a moment to gauge her sincerity, or her true intentions.

“You’re a ‘spy’, right?” Zoe returned a challenging grin, “Mr. Big doesn’t belong here, so find out why he’s bothering my family. Find out what he’s going to talk to them about tonight. Then _maybe_ I’ll think about trusting you.”

“Hmm,” Pythia posed thoughtfully, still sitting on her haunches, “I suppose I could figure out a thing or two. No promises though.”

“I overheard mom agreeing to some ‘business’ discussion with Mr. Big after the party dies down.”

“Looks like we’re waiting for everyone else to leave then,” Pythia nodded, standing from her crouched position.

The twins added their approval of Zoe’s challenge. Expressing their excitement to see Pythia do “her spying thing”. Whatever that was.

In the meantime, Pythia decided to talk with the young girls about other things. They were so curious, asking about where she came from, about the existence of another territory far across the globe. They had asked these questions many times before, of course, but Pythia did not mind explaining it all over again. Zoe seemed to have slightly more interest in what Pythia had to say than normal. She continued to remain silent in her corner, however.

As the night went on, the twins had difficulty staying awake. Zoe had no such troubles, as she would often stay up late, fully exercising her nocturnal nature. She had dragged the armchair to a nearby outlet to charge her phone and was back to her game with flashing lights. Pythia untangled herself from the sleeping twins in her arms and moved herself to the door.

Pythia kept the door to the room cracked, just so she could hear into the rest of the house. She would be ready when Mr. Big decided to have his little chat with Mr. Felino. Faint voices of mammals saying their goodbyes, putting on their winter coats, and the clamoring of keys. Every now and then a draft of cold air would reach her from the main door, letting their guests leave and the winter air come in.

It was time.

She said nothing as she made her way across the room toward the glass door to the backyard, careful not to disturb the sleeping twins. Above her, she could hear light, padding footsteps —Leo— and heavy, deliberate thumping —a polar bear— rounding the staircase to the second floor.

Zoe’s eyes perked up from her phone, catching the light of the bright, flashing game she was playing on it.

“Hey!” she hissed excitedly, “Matea, Isa— she’s gonna do it!”

_Ugh, don’t wake them up._ She groaned internally as she slipped outside, shutting the door behind her.

The twins were startled awake at their elder sister’s notice and scrambled over to watch, pressing their faces against the glass door. Zoe remained in her chair, her phone dimming from lack of attention as she watched on intently. Pythia forced a relaxed posture for them, and made an exaggerated swoop of her paw to her face, holding one finger up to her muzzle.

_Shh._

Pythia had worked here long enough to know the best way around the house. Or rather, the best way to _climb_ the house. From the deep, thrumming sounds of the polar bear footsteps, they seemed to be headed toward Leo’s study on the second floor.

She leapt up to grab on to the edge of the veranda, several times her own height. With her claws latched into the dense vines, she swung her lower body upwards and over the upstairs patio. With this momentum, she released her hand grip, allowing her upper body to follow suit. Effortless — age hadn’t slowed her down one bit.

Her sharp hearing caught gasps from young onlookers, followed by what Pythia believed to be a swear. She made a mental note to address that with Camille later.

She shimmied alongside the railing of the patio until she reached a window. But it was not the one she needed.

Eyeing a rain gutter drain on the opposite side, she estimated her jump and readied her footing. She leapt off the ledge and hooked a paw onto the metal piping, preserving momentum in her legs for a swing. She released, allowing her weight to continue arcing forward, rolling her back out onto the ledge’s wall. She dug her claws into a vine truss, slowing her movement right next to her target.

The truss gave way slightly, pulling away from the wall, bending. It made little noise, but noise nonetheless. Pythia held her breath.

“What was that?” A small voice could be heard from within the window frame. “Leo, check it out.”

“Of course,” Leo’s familiar voice could be heard.

After a few moments, the window slid open. Pythia held her breath, doing her best to keep away from his line of vision, hanging from the slightly bent truss.

Leo’s head poked out from the open window, and he slowly scanned around his backyard. He sniffed, and listened.

Sliding his head back into the house, he slid the window closed, leaving it open slightly.

“It was nothing,” Pythia could hear Leo assure, “Shall we continue, Tony?”

Pythia adjusted herself to be a bit more comfortable as she dangled from the vine-covered truss. She would need to repair it later.

“Hmm,” a low yet rough voice mused, one that Pythia could only speculate as Mr. Big. “Your wife looked uncomfortable with this party. She doin’ alright?”

“She is fine,” Leo said, “she is merely worried about our… current arrangement.”

“I don’t think anyone here is comfortable with the situation.” Mr. Big sympathized. “I apologize for having this gathering in your home. I’m not sure who to trust anymore. The Arvicolianis are starting to get more bold, taking more aggressions toward my family, my mammals.”

“Do we know what it is they are after?”

“Not a clue. But I’m starting to suspect that they put a spy in our midst. I can’t be sure who it is.”

“A spy?” Leo asked, his voice displaying a noticeable amount of concern, “How can we be certain of this?”

Pythia carefully adjusted herself, moving down along the truss closer to the window. She slowly angled her face towards the interior, keeping her eyes narrowed as to not catch the light, taking absolute care not to be seen. Her wrist began hurting; it had been a while since she had strained herself so. But she ignored the pain, and slowed her breathing.

“Last week, one of our shipments was intercepted.” The tiny don spoke, ”They were on their way outta town, unmarked car. There’s no way they coulda known that was one of ours.”

There was an enormous polar bear, the same one that stood near the hot tub. He was well-dressed, and carrying an even more well-to-do shrew. Tony Moleone.

“The Arvicolianis attacked a laundry shipment?” Leo said, his eyes growing wide.

“You’re the only one I can trust to find who told them where they were gonna be.”

“I understand, sir. I will find them. What happens after that?”

“You know what we do with traitors, but… if it’s an Arvicoliani, detain him. We’ll see what he’s worth before we make any decisions on what to do. I trust your judgement, Leo.”

“Sí, I understand. I will do what must be done.”

“This… this laundry business…” The small shrew shook his head, “It’s turning out to be more dangerous than I expected. Once we find our shipment, I’m shuttin’ down the production. There’s safer ways a’ makin’ money.”

* * *

 

Days pass. The Felino household was quiet. More so than usual.

Pythia decided that it would be best to keep what she heard to herself. While Zoe was inquisitive, Pythia told her a different story, one that would calm her down. She was, after all, a great liar.

Zoe, after being told a boring story of how her father had owed some money to the mafia don and only last night had made the final payment to the debt, did not ask any more questions about Tony Moleone’s visit. She did not seem eager to fulfill her part of the bargain, and remained as distant and indifferent as ever toward Pythia. A fact that did not come as a surprise.

Someday, Pythia vowed, she would develop a better relationship with the isolated jaguar teenager.

Why did Pythia want this? Why did she even bother? She would ponder this. In the end, Pythia was satisfied with the reasoning that she enjoyed a good challenge, to be able to blend in with her surroundings, and to get closer with the enemy.

But the Felino family was not the enemy, and Pythia was not a spy.

She found that despite her intentions to forge a new life, to grow as a mammal and to find new aspirations, to forget about her past of espionage and subterfuge, she would never truly escape. Skye would always be there, locked deep in Pythia’s mind. Begging for release, frustrated at her pathetic life of cleaning, gardening, and babysitting.

But Pythia would not relent. Despite the revelation that Leo worked for —or _with_ — Mr. Big as a sort of “business partner”, she was determined to continue her new life. As a housemaid, as a family assistant, as a civilian… As Pythia.

* * *

 

_Leonardo Felino… Foul play was suspected surrounding his death, but no investigations were ever carried out. His death was caused by a car accident._

Yes, and only a few days later, Camille and the kids relocate to Growlorado. You don’t think Pythia had anything to do with that “accident”, do you?

_No, it looks like there were allegations that he was involved in organized crime. Mr. Big was seen at his residence, and Leo at the Moleone Villa, on multiple occasions. But nothing was ever investigated. It might have been a planned ‘execution’. This whole thing smells like shit to me._

Looks like we still have some digging to do then.

_I’ll get some coffee..._


End file.
